Unallied (or Gabe in a Cage)
by Harriet Vane
Summary: The witchblade dosn't help Sara but Jake is more than willing to
1. Commencement

Chapter 1: Commencement

It was a very subtle ad, practically hidden in the classified section of Soldier of Fortune Magazine. But it caught Captain Dante's eye for two reasons. He was very interested in the service that the ad offered, he wanted to use it and, more than likely, he wanted to break it up. The ad read simply: 

Wanna get someone? 

Call 1-800-PAY-BACK 

He looked at the paper for a moment, deciding exactly how he wanted to play this. It could be tricky, it could go either way. He wanted to give this assignment to someone who was competent enough to pull it off but who was fresh enough to be dispensable. The more he thought about it the more he realized that there was no choice. He folded the paper in half and sat up in his desk. "Copper!" yelled at a uniformed officer who was walking past his door."

"Yes sir?" the man asked, pausing at the captain's door.

"Get me McCartey, would you?"

"Yes sir," the officer said and only moments later Jake McCartey was standing in front of him.

McCartey was a one-of-a-kind guy, which wasn't necessarily a good thing in Dante's book. Jake was smarter than any of the other cops in the bullpen, with the possible exception of Pezzini, but he was also the slowest. So often he just didn't seem to get it, which could be the very crafted act of a man who was sent to observe and trap or the bumbling mental slackness which is only to be expected of a boy who grew up in sunny California and who''s first dream was being a championship surfer. Either way it made Jake just a little bit dangerous, and a little bit more expendable than most.

"You wanted to see me sir?" Jake asked, his voice attentive despite the weariness in his bright blue eyes.

"Yeah, McCartey," Dante said casually, "come in and why don't you close the door behind you?"

Jake did as he was told.

"Take a seat."

Again, Jake obeyed, waiting patiently, almost eagerly, for whatever the captain had to give him. 

"I've been thinking about the whole Pezzini mess," Dante started, glancing at Jake. The younger man's ice cold eyes betrayed nothing. "I was wondering if you'd have any new thoughts to offer."

"She's spooked," Jake said, as if he was talking about a wild horse they were trying to tame. "I've been trying to get to her since that mess at the tv station but she's being a little more than evasive . . . you shouldn't have shot at her, sir."

"She attacked me at night in my bed, what else am I supposed to do?" Dante snapped back. Jake didn't have an answer. The boy was still hung up on his pretty training officer, it was a shame, but not an insurmountable problem, Dante thought. "The point is, she's still out there and she is gonna come back and make our lives hell if we don't do something but soon, you understand?"

"A hundred percent sir."

"And I was further thinking that, since we are so understaffed, it might be a good thing to try and hit two birds with one stone."

"How so?" Jake asked, when most officers would have just nodded and said 'yes sir.' He was sharp, Dante had to give him that.

"Take a look at this," the Captain said, handing Jake the paper and pointing out the small ad. "It seems to me that we, ah, do want to get somebody and, ah, also whatever activity they're engaged in is gonna have to be extra-legal if you know what I mean."

"Yes sir," Jake said slowly. He was thinking, maybe just a little more than Dante would have liked.

"What I want you to do is sick those guys on Pezzini and when the time is right we get them all."

Jake nodded, he got it. "A bust gone bad, somehow they shot one of the investigating officers before we were able to get them."

"Exactly," Dante said, smiling unashamedly.

"Which means our boys'll have to shoot whoever's behind this."

"Naturally." 

"And the money, somehow, disappears."

"Sometimes you just never get all the pieces."

Jake nodded, he was smiling too, but something in his eyes betrayed uneasiness. "I'm all over it Captain."

"That's my boy."

* * *

Jake walked back to his desk with the magazine in his hands. His hands were sweating and he absentmindedly wondered if it would wrinkle the thin, glossy, pages.

He collapsed into his rickety office chair that had the sticky wheel and stared at the empty space in front of him that used to be filled with Sara. Or at least was occasionally filled with Sara. With a sigh he put the paper in front of him, on top the half dozen manilla folders that contained information regarding actual cases. He grabbed the phone with a little more violence than he should have and it made an unsatisfactory clatter as he dropped it in front of him. Cradling the receiver in between his ear and his shoulder he carefully punched in the eleven. There was one ring and then a computer generated voice that said "Wanna get someone. Leave a message." Then a short beep. Jake waited for a second, unsure if the message was over, but he quickly realized that the long space he was leaving before his message was becoming conspicuous. "Ah, hey," he said nervously, suddenly his lips were dry for no reason whatsoever. "My name's Jake and, ah, yeah, I want to get someone." he waited, just in case the call was being screened. When he realized that no one was going to pick up and he was leaving another awkward silence be began talking quickly. "So, ah, the deal is there's this girl and, ah, well it's not like I'm stalking her, but it's a complicated story. Anyway, ah, my cell is triple 5-3245 and, um, I'm willing to pay a lot to see this bitch go down." Jake hung up the phone quickly, as if he were setting something down that was burning him. He felt sick, he didn't want to get Sara at all. He wanted, more than anything, to help her. He didn't even, really, know with what. But he knew she needed help and with all of his youthful heart he wanted to give her that.

* * *

Gabriel Bowman hit enter and then he hit the jackpot. The story. He had hunted, and intended to continue to hunt for bits and pieces. But this was it, this was the answer to every question, even those they hadn't thought of yet. This was what every superhero needed and what every good mystic legend had, an origin. 

The young man ate up the story, his brown eyes darting from line to line absorbing every bit of information he possibly could.

"For the tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was the most beautiful tree in the garden. Its trunk was not a dirty brown, as all the other trees which bore good fruit, but rather it shone white in the sun, as if to blind those regarding it, and gleamed in the starlight as if it were made of silver. This tree's fruit was also the most beautiful, it shone like the darkest garnet and the juice was as thick and as dark as blood. 

"Eve, as she plucked the forbidden fruit, tore off also a branch of this most beautiful tree, and as she bit into the fruit, and also persuaded Adam to do so, the juices of the fruit flowed into her and through her and mingled with her blood. And as she and her husband fled, realizing their shame and nakedness, she clung to the silvery branch, unwilling to leave any evidence of this first, great, sin. 

"Even as they were cast out of the Garden and Eve wailed with repentance and grief, she clung to this evidence of her sin for hope of hiding her shame. But on their first night out of the garden, as Adam slept with the heaviness of his separation from God, Eve sat awake, crying. The yoke of guilt crushed her. She could accept her own lot, for she had betrayed her great and loving creator, but to have cursed Adam to the cold and ungiving world outside of the garden, and their children, and their children''s children and every child for all time, this was a burden she could not bear.

"'Oh Lord,' she cried, 'Though thou hast turned a cold ear to me, the daughter who betrayed you, I pray once more for your forgiveness. Not for the great evil which I have already performed, but for that which I must do to free the race from my wicked influence.'

"She walked to the dark pool next to the spot they slept. It was deep and the water was smooth as glass. When Eve approached it, meaning to slip under its waters and disappear into a world she did not and could not comprehend, she saw for the first time a reflection of her face. 'What is this ghost that looks like a woman?' Eve said, bewitched by her own beauty. 'Surely she is beckoning me to her cold world. Shall I go? I am not deserving of a welcome, I have betrayed my creator and condemned my children for all eternity, I should be banished to nothingness, not welcomed into a mirror world by this fair faced lady.'

"And while she was still looking the dark waters turned golden. Eve lifted her eyes and saw that the sky itself had become a sheet of gold and the light that shone on her was brighter than the noonday sun. Eve was filled with terror and she stumbled away from the glassy pool. She turned to Adam, who slumbered heavily from exhaustion at their new, hard, life, and saw that, standing next to him, was a great Man in robes whiter than white. His majesty overwhelmed the woman and she fell prostrate on the ground. 'Oh good and holy one,' she said. 'Surely you are a messenger of God. I beg you, cut me down where I lay, burn my flesh and consume my spirit. For I am a bane upon the earth, I am the most accursed of all creation, and only my end would bring a bright beginning to that which God in his wisdom created good.'

"The angel spoke, 'Daughter of the creator, child of heaven and earth, first among women, rise and know that you are loved yet by he who made you. I am the messenger Gabriel, come to tell you that, while you turned your face from the Good God, even this he can turn for good because he is the source of all that is noble and right. Know that no action may drive a person away from God eternally, that he is forgiveness as he is justice and he is grace as he is retribution.'

"'Forgiveness and Grace go to Adam. For me, I deserve no more than justice and retribution.'

"'Child of he who is and was and will be, lift your eyes and I will show you your portion of forgiveness and grace.'

"Eve's breast was filled with hope and she turned her eyes towards the glorious messenger and her eyes were filled with awe. 

"'Go forth and bring to me the item of your guilt and the object which signifies your shame,' The Angel said to her. At his words Eve immediately rose and fetched that branch which she had kept and hid from Adam. The Angel took the branch from her and said, 'Now child, watch and learn. For when God in his goodness and grace takes that which is man's greatest shame, the sign of the evil that lays in the hearts of every man, and turns it to weapons of his glory. For as he transforms this, the symbol of your sin, he transforms your very soul.'

"The Angel reached down to Eve and commanded her to give him her hand. She obeyed and he placed the First Blade on her wrist. 

"'Surely this is the greatest of God's graces,' Eve said. Then she raised her arms in gratitude and worshiped the Lord by lifting her voice in psalms of praise.

Gabriel blinked and backed away from the screen. Eve's psalm of praise went on for about 40ks, he wasn't up to 40ks of early Hebrew poetry, maybe in the morning. He stood up, yawned, stretched and looked critically towards his bedroom, it may only have been 1:30 in the morning, but it was definitely time for bed. But before he could collapse into the warm, comforting oblivion of sleep his phone rang. Gabriel rubbed his eyes and contemplated not answering it. It was late, after all, only weirdos would be calling this late. Weirdos and people who really needed to get in touch with him. With a tired sigh he picked up the phone, "Hey."

"I'm at the door," Sara Pezzini said almost like a demand.

"Right," Gabe sighed. He hung up the phone and, rubbing his eyes, trotted downstairs, to his apartment's street entrance. There was no one at the door, but that didn't bother him. As soon as he reached it a shadow appeared from the nearby alley. It floated in the door and didn't even stop to say hi as it started heading towards his apartment. Gabriel, with incredible patience for how tired he was, sighed and followed her up the stairs and into his place. "So what?" he asked once the door was safely closed and being locked. "Miss curfew at the homeless shelter?"

"No," Sara said. Her voice was trembling slightly, it may have been the middle of spring, but New York nights still got pretty cold. "I think Dante's on to me. Every shelter I went to needed to know my name, said it was because they suspected a young homeless woman fitting my description is wanted in connection with a murder."

"Wha'd you do?" he asked, his annoyance turning to concern. "Use an alias?"

"I didn't want to risk it," Sara said. "It would be ten times worse if someone realized I was lying about my name."

"You could'a just said you were Elizabeth Bronte," Gabriel offered. "I bet you two even have the same fingerprints."

"I'll keep that in mind for tomorrow night." Sara said as she started clearing off the couch. 

* * *

This was almost becoming a ritual, she would call him up from the alley right next to his building if, for some reason, she wasn't able to sleep at a homeless shelter. He would go down and let her in. She'd stay the night on his couch and be gone before he woke up, leaving nothing more than a little note reading 'thanks'. At first Gabriel had resisted this routine, begging Sara to either set up permanent residence on his couch or at a hotel. He would gladly give her the dough to stay at different hotels every night, that wouldn't be a problem at all. It would make him feel a whole lot better. But Sara was tough and independent and after one argument in low tones and reasoned evidence, she had made him promise never to bring it up again. That was a promise he intended to keep, no matter how much it drove him nuts.

"So what do you do with yourself all day?" Gabriel asked, making conversation, hoping to draw Sara out. Every morning, with the exception of those he found the little 'thanks' note, he expected to see an article about her death in the paper. He didn't want her to just go to bed and then disappear without more than a few words, he wanted to make sure she knew he really cared and was more than a lot of big talk.

"Read, mostly." Sara said, she was sitting on the couch now and digging through her backpack for her toothbrush. "The library has newspaper articles on file going back forever. So far I've found about thirty that talk about a white bulls' killing."

"They say that?"

"All the signs are there," Sara said earnestly. "I mean, I can't prove any of them for sure, but the evidence I'm gathering is very compelling."

Gabriel nodded. "And what do you plan to do with all this evidence? You gonna go to the FBI?"

Sara sighed, "I don't know," she admitted. "But I have to do something."

Gabriel nodded and then, despite his ardent efforts to avoid it, yawned. 

"You need to get to bed," Sara said, as if she were taking care of him and not the other way around.

"Yeah," the young man said. His desire to stay up and talk to Sara was superseded by his need for sleep. "I'll not see you in the morning."

"Thanks Gabriel," Sara said covering his graciousness and his willingness to not ask questions. "I really owe you."

"Just take care of yourself," Gabe said. "There are people who worry."

"Thanks," she said again. She wasn't going to tell him not to worry, they'd had that discussion before. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Sara," he said as he slipped into his bedroom and closed the door. When he opened it again the next morning she was gone. The only evidence that she'd been there at all was a little post-it note on his computer screen reading 'thanks.'

To be Continued . . .


	2. Acquire

Chapter 2: Acquire

"So why do you want to kill this woman?" an eerie feminine sounding voice said. There was a pause and a slight clicking sound right before the voice talked, someone was using a computer, Jake thought, typing out their responses and having a voice simulator say them so that he couldn't recognize the voice. It was smart, but annoying.

"She betrayed me," Jake lied, "and she abandoned me."

"Before I attack some woman I don't know I'm going to have to hear a more compelling story."

"Alright, but, ah, you have to promise me that, no matter what I say you will not hang up."

"I never make promises."

"Please, just, before you hang up, hear me out."

"Go on."

"I'm a cop."

"Goodbye."

"No, no wait!" Jake pleaded. "I'm in the system enough to know it doesn't work. This isn't about you, it's about her and what she did. So long as she get's hers I don't give a damn what you do." 

"There is a basic bond of trust between a professional and a client. I, as the professional, can't very well have a good working relationship with a client I can't trust now can I?"

"Look, all I'm looking for is a chance to get back at her. I can't do it in the law, maybe you can do it outside."

There was a pause. "You're gonna have to prove your trustworthiness with fifty G's up front, and another fifty after the jobs done."

"Not a problem."

"Where's a cop gonna get a hundred G?"

"Evidence locker," Jake said nervously. He knew the cash would have to come out of the White Bulls lush account with the guarantee that this was an investment not only in peace of mind, but also one that would bring in a hefty return. 

"I like you," the voice said with no warmness. "Now what did this girl do to you?"

"She was my partner,"Jake said, licking his lips. "Then, one day, she just snapped. I don't know, she threatened another officer with pictures of him with a hooker, said she'd take them to his wife."

"Maybe that officer shouldn't have been with the hooker in the first place."

"That's not the issue. The thing is she betrayed us. She started accusing our captain of killing people and covering it up, and . . . ah, I saw her getting cozy with a suspect in one of those interview rooms. Holdin' his hand, looking deep into his eyes . . . she let him beat the crap out of me and then she didn't do anything."

"Is this a jealously thing?"

"No!" Jake said, over defensively. "Bitch abandoned me."

"Abandoned?"

"She went psycho one night, blamed our boss for this old guy's suicide, attacked him in his own goddamn bed. So here I am, standing with all this work we were supposed to do together and it's all on me. And she's just gone."

"So what kind of revenge are you looking for?"

"I'm not looking for revenge, I want justice."

"True justice is impossible, you should know that. I suggest you look for revenge."

"I just want her to feel how I felt."

"And how is that?"

Finally, for the first time in the conversation, Jake was able to tell the truth. "I feel alone, like there's no one I can trust or turn to. Like a wave is crashing down on me and she's got the life jacket, you know, but she's not going to throw it to me."

"So do you want us to throw her in the bay and arrange it so you could deny her salvation," the voice asked. Because of it's synthesized, emotionless tone Jake wasn't sure if it's proposal was real or sarcastic.

"I want her to need my help, and I want to be able to say I choose not to."

"That can be easily arranged."

"Great," Jake said, a little stuntedly. "How do we set that up?"

"Give us her phone number."

"What?"

"Her phone number."

"Ah, ok." Jake said. "5, 5, 5, 4, 5, 3, 5."

"Now we come to the money."

"Yeah, I was wondering how you wanted to do that."

"It seems to me that the safest way would be a meet."

"A meet, you've gotta be kidding me?"

"Normally I would arrange for some elaborate drop off point. But I know you could but a tracer on the money or, if you were a little less ingenious, just put a man on following the cash until it reached me. I can not have this. At a meet you will be well covered by my gunmen at all times. Any tricky business and you're dead."

"Don't you think you're being a little paranoid?"

"A bond of trust between a person like myself and a person like yourself is impossible. Throughout this deal I feel its essential to proceed with the utmost caution."

"Right."

"So bring me the money tonight at three a.m. on the red line subway platform at Times Square."

"Three a.m.?" Jake groaned.

"Consider this a proof of your determination on the course you've set."

"Yeah, right, fine, I'll be there," Jake grumbled.

"I anticipate we'll have a very interesting working relationship."

"Right," Jake said, hanging up the phone. He had felt like a rat a lot in the last month, he'd done a lot of unethical things for the better good and he was at the point where every night he prayed that, somehow, a body of wrongs could make a right. He felt sick to his stomach and sick of his job and sick of himself. He wanted to call Sara and let her know what was coming but he knew that she screened her calls. She would only answer if she saw he was calling. He imagined himself, at best, the only person she could trust, at worse, one of a handful she would trust. And here he was, betraying her. "God, I'm sorry Sara," he said to the space she should have occupied before he rubbed his eyes, he felt much more tired now than he had before that conversation, pushed himself out of his chair, and went to beg Dante for 50 G's.

* * *

Sara Pezzini called three people on her cell phone, and three people called her. One was Jake McCartey, Nat's client. He wasn't an option. Another was Kenneth Irons, he actually called her from a host of different numbers, home, office, cell, car, etc. Irons was rich, he had a body guard. He was also out of the question. But the third person was promising. A young man who lived alone. He was a computer nerd; not used to and, hopefully, not up to a good fight.

Nat didn't know Miss Pezzini's relationship with Gabriel Bowman, but she had called him 15 times in the last month, and he had called her five. And the phone records of her apartment showed an even closer communication between the two in the months before that. Nat was thinking, or maybe hoping, that the pair were lovers. Yeah, Gabriel would definitely have to be the mark.

Nat started going into Gabriel's phone records. The only phone he had was a cell, registered as a business number. He was called by a lot of people and he called a lot of people. However, the vast majority of his acquaintances seemed to be out of the country; Greece, Malaysia, India, Hong Kong, the Czech Republic, England, Ethiopia, Guam, she had never seen a more extensive list of incoming calls from far away places. Gabriel Bowman certainly would be interesting. But still, the one person he had the most contact with was Sara Pezzini.

"I got it Toph," Nat yelled. Her voice echoed in the vast warehouse filled with huge spindles of telephone wire and cold drafts. 

"Hey great!" the older man said from across the building where he was putting the finishing touches on their holding pen.

Nat printed out all the information she could get about Bowmen, his name, age, address, social security number, billing record, credit card number, bank account number, etc. Before she was done she felt Christopher's strong hands plant themselves on her delicate shoulders. She leaned backwards in her chair so that his face was hovering over her. "Fifty thousand today," he said, excitement rimming his voice. "Hundred thousand tomorrow."

She laughed, and so did he, as he swivelled her chair around and around making her dizzy. She fell onto the cold concrete floor, still laughing with sheer joy and excitement as Toph collapsed next to her. 

"This ROCKS!" Nat screeched. Her youth was never more apparent than in moments of pure excitement. And it was her youth that he loved.

"You rock," the man said lustfully, putting his hands on her face, kissing her, and then slowly working downward to her neck and beyond.

Nat giggled, giddy, high-pitched. It was a giggle that betrayed her youth and she did it every time he touched her that way. Soon the warehouse echoed with her giggles and the cold drafts and the cold floor disappeared as they kept each other warm.

* * *

It was three a.m. and Jake paced up and down as he waited for whomever it was he was waiting for. There was a uniformed cop standing, half dozing, over near the stairs that led to the street. There were two drunks sleeping in one of the darker corners over near the platform, but beyond that, the platform was deserted.

The westbound train zipped by, rushing the platform with a freezing wind that sent a chill down Jake's spine. As it slowed to a stop he could see all the cars were empty except one. He watched, almost amazed, as a young girl who looked to be about seventeen walked out of the subway and straight too him.

"Mr. McCartey?" she asked, her voice not all together confident.

"Yeah," Jake answered slowly.

"You've got something for me?"

"Yeah," Jake said again a little louder to be heard over the westbound train as it ripped past them and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. Jake was bewildered by the young woman. She was pretty, too young for Jake to really consider beautiful, with blond hair and red highlights cut in the latest fashion. She was wearing makeup, which should have made her look older, but she had too much on and the colors were too trendy to be taken seriously. Her skirt was cut high, her blouse was cut low and she looked too much like a streetwalker for Jake's comfort. The big difference, though, was that girls that young on the street were usually on something, they had to be to deal with all the crap they lived through. This girl's bright blue eyes were clear, sharp, focused: she wasn't addicted to anything . . . at least not anything illegal.

He handed her a plain goldenrod envelope with no distinguishing marks. "Feels about right," she mused as a large rumble followed by a gust of frigid air filled the platform. As the doors slid open she pushed past him and entered an empty car.

"Wait!" Jake said sharply as the reality of his situation struck him. He had just given the girl $50,000 and he had no assurance that she would follow through on the bargain, or even that she was a representative of the person he had bargained with. "How do I know . . ." he started, but he was too late. The doors slid shut and the train whisked away and he was left standing on the platform hoping against hope that he had not been had.

* * *

Gabriel thought he heard something. He opened his eyes, glanced at the clock, saw that it was only 4:48 in the morning and decided he couldn't have heard anything. He closed his eyes and drifted back towards sleep. Then he heard the distinctive 'brrring' of his computer being drawn out of it's early morning sleep by the movement of the mouse or the pressing of a key. For a second he thought that must just be Sara, she must have accidently hit something as she put her traditional thank you note up. But then Gabriel remembered that Sara hadn't called him early this morning. That he hadn't talked to her for the last two days and that she was probably resting comfortably at the Woman's Rescue mission under the assumed name of Emily Bronte.

"Oh, Sara," Gabriel groaned softly as he rolled out of bed. "Why weren't you homeless last night?"

The young man crept, quietly and foolishly across the floor of his bedroom and pressed himself against the door. His cell was in the other room, he had been up late talking to one of his suppliers, a pawnshop owner in Ho Chi Min City that always had something interesting to sell, and had left it next to the computer where he'd been working. 

Calling 911 was out of the question.

Gabriel licked his lips, tried to steady his breathing, and listened. It sounded like there were two big guys in there, Gabriel didn't want to risk getting his neck broken just so they could take off with his VCR. He carefully, quietly, locked his bedroom door and backed away. He glanced around, trying to find something he could use as a weapon. It didn't look good, pillows, blankets, a lava lamp, a 'The Who' poster, a bookshelf full of paperbacks, a dresser full of soft clothes; he didn't even have a closet in the room with wire hangers that could be bent into hooks or spikes or whatever. Gabriel suddenly deeply regretted not decorating his rooms with mediaeval weaponry as he had planed as a child.

He glanced at his window, it was three floors down to hard concrete. He really didn't want to jump. 

Hoping that it was a silly, useless, precaution, Gabriel unplugged the lava lamp that sat on his dresser, the one he'd used as a nightlight since he was five. Careful not to touch the hot glass, he held it over his head, his back to the wall, ready to hit anyone who walked through that door.

He waited for three minutes, listening to the two pairs of footsteps as they clattered around his apartment. Then his arms got tired so he lowered the lamp. Two more minutes, more clatter, he started trading the lamp between his hands so he could stretch out one of his arms. He was beginning to get cold, he contemplated pulling a sweatshirt over the undershirt he slept in, or maybe putting some socks on, but decided that would take too much time and just might make too much noise. He put the lamp in his left hand and stretched out his right arm. At least he had worn sweat pants to bed instead of just his boxers, if he hadn't then he'd really be cold.

The doorknob rattled and Gabriel's heart stopped. He grabbed the lava lamp with both hands and hoisted it over his head again. He was anticipating a lock pick, for the door to swing gently open, and one of the two men to be hunched over and vulnerable in the doorframe. Instead the door was forced open by a violent kick that sent splinters of wood cascading into the room. The suddenness of the act took Gabriel off guard and he hesitated in crashing the lava lamp onto the intruders head. Instead, once the man (who was easily a half a foot taller than him) had entered the room and was looking at the empty bed, Gabe hit him with all his force, in the gut.

The man gasped and doubled over, as much from surprise as from the blow. But before Gabriel worked up the resolve to hit him again, this time on the head, he straightened and held a small spray tube right at Gabe's eye level. Gabriel only saw the intruder's face for a split second, he was handsome, about thirty with dirty blond hair and muddy green eyes. Something about him made Gabriel very, very afraid. The younger man raised his lava lamp again. 

"You gonna hit me?" the intruder asked.

Gabe knew he should. He knew that if he really wanted to get out of this without being hurt himself and without his stuff being taken he'd have to hit the man. He also knew that no one would blame him for attacking two men who had broken into his apartment. But no matter how much he knew those things to be true, he hesitated. And in that hesitation Gabriel was lost.

The man took that split second of opportunity to attack. Before Gabriel realized what was happening his eyes were on fire. He reached up to stop the mace from reaching his face and dropped the lava lamp on his foot. Gabriel didn't even notice as half of the bones in his right foot snapped. All he could notice was how much his eyes hurt. His knees collapsed and he gasped for breath as he clawed at the fire around his eyes. He couldn't shut them tight enough. He tried to struggle when the intruder grabbed his hands and forced them behind his back, tying them with something that cut off the circulation. He was forced to his feet and dragged out of the apartment and then threw him into the back seat of a car. After they had been driving thirty minutes Gabriel was able to steel enough of himself to put aside the pain in his eyes and his hands and his foot and try to gain some understanding of what was going on. He didn't dare try to open his eyes, but somehow he managed to speak.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice was thin and trembled slightly.

"Aw shit," the man said. 

Gabe felt a sharp sudden pain at the back of his skull, then bright lights and colors seemed to wash over his vision, and then there was nothing.

  
  


To Be Continued . . .

Note: Meghan wants you all to know that she had nothing to do with this cliffhanger, It's all me. 


	3. Yokemate

  
  


Chapter 3: Yokemate

"So," Danny's soft friendly voice said. Sara, startled, sucked in her breath in what might be considered a gasp and looked up. Her ghostly friend was leaning over the microfiche machine and smiling down at her. "Read anything interesting lately?"

"Hey Danny," Sara said, smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I wish it was just a social call," Danny said a little bit sadly. "But the fact of the matter is someone needs you."

"What are you talking about?" she said, trying very hard not to be worried.

"Go to Gabriel's apartment," Danny advised.

"Why?" Sara asked, her voice hesitant.

"You'll know when you get there."

"Danny," Sara said, her voice a warning. It was true that she could do him no harm, but it was more the principle of the thing.

"Sara, I can't tell you everything," Danny said. It was an apology. "I can help but . . ."

"But not too much?"

"This is your life Sara, your fate, your duty."

Sara took a deep breath, "Gabriel's apartment."

Danny nodded. 

"I'm gonna hate what I find there aren't I?" Sara asked suddenly afraid.

"I'll be there with you," Danny smirked. "In spirit."

Sara opened her mouth to say something back to her partner but he was gone. 

***

The door to Gabriel's apartment was ajar. Just seeing that made Sara sick with fear. She took a tentative step forward and pushed it fully open and was assaulted with the stuff of most people's nightmares. Everything felt out of place. Gabriel's apartment had always felt cluttered to her, but this was a new level. It was like a Dali painting, everything was wrong but she wasn't sure how to even begin explaining how. And as she edged into his bedroom any doubts she had managed, despite herself, to harbor, evaporated. 

Danny was sitting on Gabriel's bed looking, almost dreamily, up towards Gabriel's 'The Who' poster. "He's in trouble Sara," Danny said. 

"And it's my fault," she said.

"You didn't cause it."

"He's alright, right?" Sara asked. Her throat was getting tight. "You wouldn't tell me he was in trouble if he was dead."

"He's not dead."

"You wouldn't be here if I couldn't fix it," she had desperate fear at bay, it was welling up in her chest and flowed out in a mild trembling.

"He's in trouble Sara, but he's alive." Danny assured him.

"Great," she said, her voice trembling. "So all I have to do is find him, right? Find him and save him?"

"You need Jake."

"Jake? Why do I need him?"

"He's your partner, Sara."

"No, you're my partner, he's the California boy doffus that tried to replace you and then turned on me and joined the organization that killed my father."

"You're judging him a little too harshly."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sara snapped. "I'm just a little edgy, my best friend's been abducted by God knows who and taken to God knows where for God knows what reason!"

"Think about it Sara, God's not the only one with answers to those questions."

She looked at him skeptically as tears slowly escaped her eyes. She pushed her hands against her cheeks, spreading her tears across them instead of wiping them away. "Fine, right, all I have to do is detect where he is."

"You are a detective."

Sara nodded, her moist cheeks glistening, as she looked around. "Forced entry, both here and in the front room. But it doesn't look like there was much of a struggle. The only thing out of place is this lava lamp."

"Which means?" Danny prompted, as he had when she was just a rookie and he was the experienced trainer. She looked up at him and almost smiled, it was so familiar. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never prompted Jake that way, her desire to smile faded and she got back to the task at hand.

"He wasn't ready for them," as she pushed aside her personal feelings and became more professional she was able to think clearly and create a scenario in her head. "They came in and he heard them. Now, he didn't call for help . . . why didn't he call for help?"

"Where's his phone?"

"That's a good question," Sara said as she pulled her cellular phone out of her jacket pocket. Gabriel's number was three on her speed dial. Within seconds she heard the ringing on her line of the phone, a heartbeat, and she heard Gabriel's phone ring in the next room. Sara pulled her phone away from her ear and hung up after a second ring. "That answers that question, he couldn't." She walked into the main room and glanced around, Danny got off the bed and followed her, looking more at the apartment's decor than for any signs of an intruder. As Sara stormed through the department, finding nothing, she noticed Danny's leisurely stance.

"Why aren't you helping me?"

"I'm not your partner, Jake is."

"You've always helped me."

"This time I can't."

"What are you talking about?"

"Is there a ransom note, Sara?"

"No," she choked out.

"So no one is taking credit?"

"No."

"So the only possible way of finding who did this is through finger prints, trace hairs left at the scene, established MO's."

"Yeah."

"And how will you get access to that?"

"I can't trust him." Sara spit out.

"You can't afford not to." Danny said.

"He'll betray me and I'll die."

"Then I'll have some company."

"You're a sick, sick bastard Danny." Sara said, she was too frightened to edge her feelings and too frustrated to care about what she said. "Gabriel is in danger and all you can do is talk about Jake!"

"Sara whenever I'm here I'm here for a reason," Danny said. "I don't just pop up when you want me, I pop up when you need me."

"God knows I need you now Danny."

"And every word I say is meant to help you."

"Then why don't you help me now?"

"Because Sara," Danny said, with a saintly patience only death can bring. "Jake is your partner."

"Jake," Sara said softly, finally getting it. "This is all about Jake."

Danny nodded. "I knew you'd catch on."

* * *

When Jake got to work in the late morning there was an envelope waiting for him at the front desk. He asked who had dropped it off, but none of the people at the desk knew, it must have been left before the graveyard shift ended. When he opened it in the privacy of the office he and Sara had once shared he found two notes. Both typed on a word processor and printed on standard printer paper: there was little to no chance of tracing them to the criminals. One was a note to Jake, assuring him that the job had been carried off perfectly and that, eventually, Sara would be coming to him for help. And even if she didn't, the note said, she would undoubtably be feeling the same sense of lost helplessness that he was feeling. He could contact her if he felt like it, it would not change the plan one iota. And if, for some reason, he needed to contact them, it offered a number that would be answered by the eerie computerized voice 24/7. The second note was to Sara. It was typed with one of those goofy fonts that no one really uses except for posters and covers of book reports. The letters were designed to look like they were dripping blood, and they were printed in red. Jake read over the note and his heart seemed to stop. "Oh no," he muttered as his mind reeled. He had to do something to stop this right now. He reached for his desk phone, desperate to end the deal. But before he could even pick up the receiver his cell phone rang. Jake hesitated, sighed, and then pulled the phone out of his pocket violently, as if he were angry at the small chunk of plastic for delaying this most important call. Then he saw who it was who was calling and he instantly forgave and forgot.

"Sara," Jake said, his voice eager and hushed.

"Jake, I need your help."

"Gabriel's missing."

"How'd you know?"

"There's a note for you here, Sara."

"A note?"

"A ransom note."

"Someone sent a ransom note to you?"

"No, to you," Jake said, finding himself hard up for a reasonable explanation. "It was on your desk."

"How'd it get there?"

"I don't know," Jake said defensively. "It was here when I showed up."

"Right," Sara sighed. "I've gotta see it, we've gotta meet."

"Right, when, where?"

"Ahhh, Morrie's at two. I'll be in the back room."

"Great, I'll be there."

"I'm trusting you Jake," she said, he could tell it was part plea, part threat. "Gabriel's life may depend on this."

"We'll get through this, Pez. We'll get him through this."

"I'll see you at Morrie's," Sara said, before she hung up. 

Jake pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. He felt absolutely sick. He shouldn't have told her about the note. If he hadn't told her about the note maybe he could have called the kidnapers and arranged for things to be different. Maybe at lunch he should tell her the truth, all of it. Yeah, it might be risky to blow his cover but if she knew who he was, really, and why he was there then maybe she'd be able to understand why he did what he did. And if he could tell her that he did it then they would be able to work together and make it un-done. But it was a risk, a very big risk. A risk he didn't have clearance to take and a risk he didn't know would pay off. Still, Gabriel Bowman had been dragged into a deadly situation because he'd been carefully avoiding big risks. Bowman was just a kid, it wasn't right. Jake had no idea how Sara had found Gabriel, but he did know that she loved Gabriel like a younger brother. He also knew that, if he looked at the whole situation from her eyes, Bowman was the one person she could trust. Hell, if you looked at the situation from any eyes he was the one person she could trust. Jake had ordered a kidnaper to come and 'get her', Kenneth Irons and Ian Nottingham were both complete psychopaths, and any other family or friends she had had before were dead. Sara was alone, Jake thought, she probably felt like a wave was crashing down on her and there was no one standing on the shore with a life jacket. And that thought gave Jake no pleasure, it only make him feel sicker.

***

"Hey!" Gabriel yelled into the vast, cold emptiness of the warehouse around him. "Anybody there?"

There was no answer.

"Come on!" he yelled. "There's got'a be somebody! You wouldn't just leave me here, unguarded," he waited for a response. None came. "I could escape!"

The truth was he couldn't, not without several small miracles. Gabriel reasoned his captors probably knew this, which is why they didn't waste their time guarding him, undoubtably a boring and morale hampering job. No, Gabriel mused as he looked around himself, he was quite stuck, totally dependent on rescue.

There was the simple fact that he didn't know where the hell he was. That could have, naturally, been overcome by simply wandering around until he found someone who could tell him where he was. But to wander around and find this person, he would have to have gotten out of the warehouse undetected, undoubtably a much more arduous task than it would appear, and to do that, he would have had to gotten out of his little cage. It was about four feet tall and six feet long. It was new and clean, with a thin blue plastic coating over the mettle bars. Gabe guessed that it was supposed to be used for kenneling large dogs. It had a latch, which a dog probably wouldn't be able to undo, to which a padlock could be, and was, attached. 

But he could have kicked at the cage until it's relatively thin metal bars bent, then broke, and he could have, with extreme stealth, snuck out of the damned warehouse and ran to the nearest corner cop and explained his situation. All that would have been possible if not for his foot. The searing pain that ebbed out of it made it hard to breath. Despite the burning in his eyes that forced him to keep them closed he had stolen a glance at his foot in his one, quick, glance around the room. It was a horrible purplish blue and looked about two shoe sizes wider. He didn't have any idea how it had gotten hurt but he did know that he wouldn't be able to run, he probably couldn't walk, and he maybe couldn't even stand.

As another cold gust filled the bizarrely quiet warehouse and blew over him Gabriel tried to curl up in a ball to keep himself warm. Sara would find him, he reminded himself. She would find him and save him and then seriously kick the asses of whatever bastards were doing this to him. 

He would be rescued.

***

Sara read over the bizarre note; it gave her the chills. She read over it again. "'We have Gabriel Bowman and we intend to keep him until such a time as we decide," Sara read out loud, her voice trembling. "It's such a pointless ransom note," she told Jake, as if it were his fault. "No demands, no reasons, just a statement of guilt. No one even takes credit."

"But," Jake said, reaching out over the table and putting his hand over hers. "It's a place to start."

"Not a very good place," Sara spat, furious and frustrated at the whole situation.

"It is what it is, Sara," Jake said, almost scolding her. "We have to take what we can get."

"Right," Sara asked, her voice shaking slightly as she was filled with a sense of hopeless defeat. "This is what it is. The question is where to go from here?"

"Find these bastards and save your friend," Jake answered simply. His blue eyes were wide open and: Sara couldn't help but think: honest.

"Where do we start?"

"Well," Jake said cautiously. "I think I might know who did this."

"How?"

Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a magazine, put it on the table and sild it over to her. Sara picked it up and her brow wrinkled with concern as she red the small ad, circled in red.

"I found that on Dante's desk," Jake said as he looked around the restaurant, presumably to ensure that there were no White Bulls in the room.

"And you took it?" Sara said, surprised by her partner's boldness.

"Not from him," Jake said, he was looking at his lap now, playing with his napkin. "The janitor found it and asked me if it was trash."

"So you took it?" Sara said skeptically. The story was tentative and unlikely at best, add to that Jake was keeping his eyes, which were always as clear as windows, averted.

"Are you lying to me Jake?" Sara asked dryly.

Her partner looked up, his window-like eyes clear and honest, "I'm trying to help you, Sara. I mean, Gabriel may not be my friend, but he's yours and that makes him pretty damned important."

Sara wanted to remain suspicious and skeptical, but by even mentioning Gabriel he'd revealed her heart of stone to be merely made of clay. Gabriel and his best interest needed to be her focus, she reminded herself. She couldn't be distracted by her trust issues with Jake. "Thanks," was all she could think to say.

"I went ahead and tried to trace the phone number. New York Bell swears up and down that no one has or is using that number."

"Did you try calling it?"

"Yeah, it dumps you right into a voice mail. I left a message but . . ."

"So the number works?"

"Yeah."

"How could the number work without the phone company knowing about it?"

"I don't know," Jake said, obviously oblivious to how essential a clue this was. "Maybe someone sliced the line?"

"I don't think so," Sara said, her mind was racing a mile a minute as she tried to recall everything she knew about New York Bell, which wasn't very much. "Especially an 800 number."

"What's your theory?"

"Our kidnapers work for the phone company. They could cover up the phone records, hide their account . . ."

"I thought it was only postal workers who committed violent crimes."

"It takes all kinds Jake."

"But Sara, the phone company's gotta have thousand of employees . . ."

"But how many of them could hide an 800 number?"

Jake shrugged, "I don't know Sara."

"I think it's about time I found out."

"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do my job, Jake," she said. "Detecting, remember? Finding the bad guys."

"You're on the lam, Pez, how could you . . ."

"Yeah, but nobody knows that but you and me and the White Bulls. I'm still a police officer, I still have my badge."

"You're walking on thin ice."

"And for all I know Gabriel is drowning," Sara said. "This is about him, the victim, remember?"

"Right, the victim," Jake said. His voice sounded oddly pained to Sara, almost guilty. "What do you want me to do?"

"Your job, Jake. Dante can't know you're helping me."

"But Sara . . ."

"I'll keep in touch," she said as she stood, grabbing her bag off the floor and digging through the pockets for the $6.50 that would cover her half of the lunch.

"I got it Sara," Jake said, obviously disappointed that she was leaving.

"It's fine."

"No, really Sara, I got it."

Sara glanced at him, "Ok," she said after a moment of hesitation. "Thanks."

At this point she knew she should leave, she had a lead and no idea how long Gabriel had. But she was still extremely bothered, "Jake, I need to know something before I go."

"Anything," Jake said, a little too eagerly.

"Nottingham said you were one of them."

"A White Bull?"

She nodded.

"He's said a lot of things, Sara."

"Yeah, and not all of them are lies."

"But a lot of them were."

At this point, she wasn't so sure of that. "A simple answer Jake, yes or no."

Jake closed his eyes, "No," he opened them again, the were sharp and honest: "I'm as dedicated to bringing them down as you are."

Sara nodded vaguely. "Thanks," she said again. This time she turned around and walked out, leaving Jake with the bill.

  
  


To Be continued . . . . 

Author's Note: Unless only four people are reading this, which is entirely possible, I'm clueless as to why I'm not getting more reviews (she said innocently, as if she were not begging . . )


	4. Talebearer

Chapter 4: Talebearer

"And what can I help you with Ms.?" Christopher McCann said politely. He was in his mid thirties, very handsome and very charismatic, nice dresser. An up and comer in the New York Bell corporation, he was in charge of all NY registered 800 numbers, not a small task at all.

"Pezzini," Sara supplied.

McCann, for a second, blanched, or so it seemed to Sara, but then he quickly regained his composure. "Ah, Ms. Pezzini, how can I help you?" 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine," he said a little curtly. "Just busy."

"Ah, well then, thank you for sparing the time, I was just wondering if you could help me trace down a number."

"Which number?"

"One eight hundred pay back," Sara said, watching him carefully.

"Well, that could certainly be done by one of our operators . . ."

"I've talked to your operators. They can't find it."

"What do you mean?"

"They looked and looked, that number is nowhere in the system."

"Well, are you sure it's the right number?"

"I'm sure."

"It could be a national . . ."

"No, I put a trace on it, whatever phone or voice mail box or whatever picks up that number comes from inside New York."

"So you're telling me that someone in this department has set up an anonymous 1-800 number and then hid it in the system?"

"That's the only thing I can think of."

"Why would someone want to do that?"

"To hide a hit man agency."

"What!" McCann said, far too loudly.

"This number is connected with one unsolved kidnaping that we know of, possibly more."

"This can't be real," the man moaned, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands.

"Why not?"

"You've just accused one of my people of ah, a, crime. A serious, serious, crime."

Sara watched him cautiously, something was wrong with the way he was reacting to her information. He was panicked, not furious. But her Witchblade wasn't warning her. 

Then it occurred to her, for the first time, that the Witchblade hadn't helped her once. A slow, cold, terror started creeping over her, the Witchblade always gave her help, it showed her the crime in frighteningly intimate detail, it gave her heightened senses, advanced warning, and at times it dominated her consciousness. But not now. When her dearest friend was in mortal danger it was cool and quiet. 

"Yes," Sara stuttered. "I'll, ah, be sure to, ah, keep you informed on the investigation."

"Are you alright Ms. Pezzini?"

Sara nodded vaguely. "Yeah, I've, um, got some more investigating to do."

"Naturally."

"Don't leave town."

McCann laughed, almost nervously. "Not a worry."

"Thanks," Sara said out of habit before she left his office and then left the building. 

She would be abandoned, she had been told that. During the periculum she was assured that she had not been abandoned. But what if that was then and this was now, what if she had been abandoned. What if the Witchblade didn't like her passionate, unethical, selfish, hopelessly foolish crusade against the White Bulls. What if the Witchblade had chosen her because she was in a position to cut down those people that were causing the deep insanity of the human race. What if this was the Witchblade's way of punishing her for ignoring her true vocation as a police officer?

No Sara thought desperately as she fingered the delicate silver band that was fused into her body. I've worked too hard, I've done too much, I've lost too much. I refuse to let this abandon me!

But still, it remained unmoved.

* * *

"Hey!" Gabriel shouted to a dark form moving towards him. It was the first movement, beyond that of the shadows, he had seen since his kidnaping. At this point he didn't care if the dark form, which was slowly becoming that of a person, was a friend or a foe, he just wanted someone to talk to. "Hey!"

"Shut up," the man said, right before he stepped into full view. Gabriel recognized him immediately, he was the man that unlocked his door the night before, the man whom he had hit with the lava lamp.

"Who are you?" Gabriel asked, a little less boldly.

"Your kidnaper."

"Oh," Gabriel said, he hadn't expected such an obvious answer. "Why'd you kidnap me?"

"Because you are the person she'll miss most."

"She?"

"Sara Pezzini."

"Sara?" Things started to make sense. He had been warned, both by Sara and by Ian Nottingham that being her friend would lead to trouble. He had said he hadn't cared, and, oddly, as he was sitting in the cage, he realized he didn't. He managed a cocky smile, "Why would you think I'm the person she would miss most? " the younger man demanded.

"Because you're practically the only person she calls."

"You have her phone records?"

"We have everyone's phone records," The man said. "So, who you know in Shanghai?"

"An archeologist who's ideas are too western for Red China," Gabe answered quickly. "Sara Pezzini and I really aren't that close."

"I don't care."

"I'm an antiques dealer," Gabriel said desperately. "I'm doing some research for her."

"It doesn't matter how you know each other . . ."

"Who in their right mind would pay a ransom for their antiques dealer?"

"We're not asking for a ransom."

"Well then, what do you want?"

"It's not what I want, it's what my client wants."

"You were hired to kidnap an antiques dealer?"

"You're not scared." the man observed dryly as he to a menacing step closer to Gabriel, who was safely locked in his cage.

The young man smirked at the observation, "Why should I be afraid?"

"I can hurt you."

Gabe shrugged.

"A lot."

"You don't know who you're dealing with," Gabriel said with more bravado than he felt. Sara was an amazing woman, by any account, and she would find a way to save him, but he didn't know how, and he didn't know when. Still, he could live with those uncertainties as long as they were just the corona around the sun of certainty that was Sara.

"You think she'll risk her life to save you?"

"I know she will."

"Who would risk their life to save an antiques dealer?" the man asked, laughing as he threw Gabriel's back at him.

"Someone who doesn't like being jerked around."

"You are a cocky bastard."

"I'm not a bastard," Gabriel said, more or less implying 'yes, I am,'to the first adjective without apology.

The man turned away from Gabriel as he sighed in disgust. "I always hated cocky bastards. How 'bout you?"

"Never really thought about it." Gabriel admitted. His tone of voice made it clear that he still wasn't thinking about it. 

"Why would you?" the huge man asked as he turned around. "It's your cardinal virtue."

With one smooth movement a trail of amber liquid flew from the flask that had appeared in his hand and slapped Gabriel full in the face. While being doused with low grade poly malt whisky has never been a pleasant experience for anyone, the raw alcohol burned the raw skin around his eyes and the soft brown orbs themselves were consumed with pain as the chemical remains of the mace which had disabled him the previous night mixed with the whisky. He was lost in the pain for a moment, only peripherally noticing that the rest of the flask was being dumped on his head. By the time he was able to open his eyes again and register a blurred vision of the world, he was soaked with cheap whisky and more annoyed than frightened. As he tried to concentrate on his breathing and ignore the maddening pain he was tempted to demand, 'What the hell?' However, when he saw the large man pull out a match book and light a match, he got it.

"You've got a be kidding me."

"Still not scared?"

"You can't kill me."

"I have a fire extinguisher."

Gabriel stared at his captor, dumbfounded by the idiocy of the plan; douse him with cheap alcohol and then set fire to him. It was like a bad Bond movie. No, a bad generic spy movie, Bond had never been that lame.

As the man lowered the match, expecting his victim to tremble in terror, Gabriel watched, still more annoyed then frightened. When the match was less then an inch away from the cage's metal bars Gabriel leaned forward, ever so slightly, and blew it out.

For a second the man looked at the smoking match, and then he glanced up at Gabriel, who's eyes, painted red with swollen blood vessels, seemed to say 'well what did you expect?'

"Damn you," the man grunted as he lit another match. Gabriel watched, disbelieving, as the flames were brought close to his alcohol soaked t-shirt only to blow it out when it was a few inches away. This pattern repeated itself twice more before the large man wised up and started using his lighter. Again, Gabriel blew out the flame before it could reach him.

"I can do this as long as you can," Gabriel told the man when he pulled the matches out again. "I think you're gonna have to come to grips with the fact you've wasted a flask of whiskey."

The man grunted angrily and lit another match. "See if you can get this one," he said, his voice edged with malice. He tossed the lit match in a graceful arch which should have (if this were a movie) landed, still aflame, on Gabriel. And then (in the movie) the young man would burst into flames and start screaming in pain. 

But it wasn't a movie, it was real. So the flame died as it flew through the air and the smoking stick landed harmlessly on the top of the cage. Both men looked at it for a moment before Gabriel broke into a smile, "Man, this just isn't your day."

Out of silly, futile, rage the man kicked Gabriel's cage with all his strength. The cage tipped and almost fell over and when it finally righted itself the young man was propelled into the cage wall and came away with a gash on his forehead, which would have been hidden by his bangs if it weren't pouring out an unreasonable amount of blood.

"Hey!" a shrill girls voice said. "You trying to kill him? Can I help?"

"No, Nat," the man said, just a tad annoyed that his torture session had been interrupted. "I'm trying to scare him."

"He doesn't look scared, just bloody."

"As long as he looks like he needs rescuing," The man said. "Is it set up?"

"Yeah," The girl, most likely named Nat, said, glancing at Gabriel then back at the man. She looked giddy, excited. "Toph, this is crazy. I can't believe we're doing this."

"It make you hot?" the man, apparently named Toph, said. 

"Yeah." 

The man laughed softly, walked up to her, and Gabriel looked away. Maybe it was because he hadn't had anything to drink in over 12 hours, maybe it was because he had just hit his head, or maybe it was that Gabriel had always found Bonny and Clyde more disturbing than romantic, but Gabriel felt like gagging.

***

Sara felt naked as she sat in the lobby outside of Kenneth Iron's office in the Vorschlage international headquarters. Only once before had she felt so helpless in his presence, when she had lost the Witchblade and needed to beg for two million dollars to save Conchobar's life. He'd refused. The situation was totally different now. She didn't have a request, only a problem, but still, the life of someone she dearly loved was in the balance. Perhaps Irons sensed her uneasiness, her fear, her vulnerability. She sat in his waiting room for nearly three hours, ten times longer than he'd ever made her wait, before the door leading to the hallway leading to his office was opened and the menacing form of Ian Nottingham looked down on her.

"Mister Iron's will see you now, Miss Pezzini," Ian said, his voice unnaturally formal considering how often he had watched over her and saved her life.

"Thanks," she said curtly as she walked past him and led the way into Irons' office. She idly wondered if she had decided to kill Irons from some reason, at this point, would Ian be able to stop her. She was a good five paces in front of him, it wouldn't be hard to pull out a gun as she entered the office, squeeze out two quick shots before Nottingham could react. Of course, then she'd be dead. Well, maybe she wouldn't. She did have the Witchblade after all.

As the smooth glass door to Iron's office opened she blinked and shook off any assassination ideas she'd harbored. She had told Nottingham she wasn't a murderer, and assassinations were wrong, and she too often needed Irons' help. She decided not to think about whether or not he deserved to be assassinated.

"Ah Sara," Irons said in his smooth, clear voice. He stood as she entered the room, a charming tradition form a time long past. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long but I was tied up in a conference call with the Vorschlage stockholders around the world. You don't just put someone who took all the trouble to call from Thailand on hold."

"Of course you don't," Sara said, her voice tense and reclusive.

Taking his cue from Sara, Iorns decided to talk business. He sat down at his desk and motioned for her to sit across from him. Nottingham remained a sentry at the door.

"What can I help you with?" he asked, all business.

"I'm not really sure," Sara said, the uncertainty in her voice playing traitor to her desire to always appear in control of the situation. "The Witchblade, it's . . . not working."

A smile that almost seemed wicked but was, in truth, merely sarcastic, spread across Irons' face. "Sara, are you implying that the greatest weapon to ever have been born by woman has a loose screw or chipped cog?"

"No," Sara said angrily. This was deadly serious, Gabriel's life was on the line. She couldn't bear Irons treating it like a joke. "The case I'm working on now . . . usually I receive visions, emotions, signs that I'm on the right track. Ever since I've gotten this thing everything has always been connected." 

"And now you're disconnected?" Irons asked.

"Yeah," Sara said, her voice raw. 

"As I understood it some, ah, indiscreet actions resulted in a . . . considerable leave of absence from the police department."

"Yeah," Sara said, a bit uncomfortably. 

"So, if you don't mind my asking, how is it that you're working on a case at all? Would this have something to do with the band of corrupt officers you've sworn to expose?"

"Actually it does," Sara said, carefully guarding her relief. She didn't want to reveal that Gabriel was involved in this whole mess. Nottingham had threatened the young man once, she didn't want to give Irons the opportunity to make good that threat through idleness.

"Humm," Irons said, he seemed to be considering the problem in some depth, Sara had to fight the temptation to hold her breath as she waited. "Perhaps," he finally said, drawing out the word for all it was worth, "you are not meant to expose these men."

"What?!"

"You are special Sara," Irons said passionately. "Think about what those who came before you have done, Joan of Arc freed France from British rule, Elizabeth Bronte won World War Two for the Allies. Do you really think the blade wants you to focus your attention on a petty corruption ring?"

"It's more than that!" Sara insisted.

"Regardless of what it is, the Witchblade just might want you to focus your attentions on more pressing matters."

"I thought I commanded it, not the other way around."

"The tension between destiny and choice is tenuous."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"That, perhaps, you should not accuse the Witchblade of abandoning you until you are sure you have not abandoned it."

* * *

As it turned out Gabriel could stand, although the pain created soft edges around his frame of vision and breathing took about half of his concentration. He could even walk, in a sense; he was limping heavily and depending on Toph to support most of his weight as he was dragged to the Production area.

"So what?" Gabriel said, because the silence was unbearable. "We're gonna make a video and send it to Sara? Demand a ransom? She doesn't have any money."

"Than why are you working for her?"

Gabriel didn't know what to say to that. "You know that the only thing you're going to get from her is violence, right?" He said, trying to change the subject. "What are you going to do when she comes in with both guns blazing?"

Toph man didn't answer. Instead he used all of the strength in his arm to fling Gabriel forward. Propelled by a force greater than he could counter, Gabriel tumbled into a makeshift studio. As soon as his instincts forced him put weight on his broken foot, volts of pain made him collapse. He landed hard next to a rickety folding chair.

Gabriel's mind reeled as he tried to find thoughts beyond the pain. When he finally managed to become aware of his surroundings, he saw was inside a square drawn on the floor with red electrical tape. Behind him there hung a plain white sheet and in front of him there was a video camera with the young girl behind it. She was blond, pretty, and reminded him too much of his younger sister. She didn't fit. He kept his eyes on her as the huge man stepped up behind her.

"Are we ready?" he asked quietly and coldly.

"I'm already taping," she answered just as quietly.

"Fine," Toph said, before pulling a tape recorder out of one of his pockets and placed it next to the camera's microphone.

"Sit in the chair, Mr. Bowman," a slightly effeminate digital voice said, "and read the card."

"Card?" Gabriel asked, somewhat bewildered, he didn't see a card.

"Damn," the girl whispered as she spun around and pulled out a series of bright orange poster boards covered with writing in thick black marker. "These cards" she mouthed. 

Gabriel looked at Nat as if she was insane, then he turned and looked at Toph the same way. "No."

This seemed to make them furious. They exchanged bothered glances for a moment before the man decided to rewind the tape and play it again. "Sit in the chair, Mr. Bowman, and read the card."

"I heard you the first time," Gabriel said. "But why the hell should I?"

He was getting red in the face and she was gnawing her lower lip nervously. 

Because the cement floor was chilling him through his sweat pants and because it was a slightly more dignified position, Gabriel decided he would sit in the chair. Using mostly his arm strength he pushed himself onto the chair, "So this is for Sara?" he asked, once he was positioned and his eyes were examining the pair behind the camera with a critical scorn.

The girl, somewhat encouraged by his partial obedience, nodded vigorously.

Gabriel nodded more subtly, a very dangerous and potentially profitable plan started forming in his mind. "I've seen two of them, Chief," Gabriel said quickly. "Camera man is mid thirties, six two, 210 pounds, dirty blond hair. Prop girl 17ish, five six, 115 pounds, blond . . ."

Throughout his quick ramble he saw the pair behind the camera become more and more panicked. Gabriel wondered if it would occur to them to press stop and rewind, apparently it didn't. Instead Toph reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, which he aimed straight at Gabe's head. That stopped his descriptions, but not his insolence.

"You can't kill me," Gabriel told his captor. "You need me to get to her."

The mans brow wrinkled with fury. He seemed to ponder the question for the moment and then, suddenly, his eyes seemed to clear. The obvious had finally occurred to him, as if by divine inspiration.

"Stop the tape," he whispered to Nat.

"But," she began to protest quietly.

"Stop it and rewind." 

"Alright," she muttered as she pushed a bright red button on the top of the camera. Then louder: "Why?"

Toph didn't answer, instead he stormed onto the small stage, charging Gabriel with a somewhat wild look in his eye. Before Gabriel could, reasonably, consider running or dodging, he was on the ground, blood flowing freely from his mouth and nose and the world around him refusing to come into focus.

"Get this," the larger man said. "You hear all about people taking care of their hostages on the news, I've never understood why. You see, the more we hurt you, the more we make this place like hell, the more wretched and pathetic you look when she sees your picture, the more she'll hurt and the more she'll need to rescue you. So, I might not be able to kill you, but I can make you hurt like you didn't know was possible. Do you understand?"

Gabe licked his lips, which were dry except for where the blood was coming out. "Yeah," he finally breathed. 

"Good," the man grunted, grabbing Gabriel roughly by the shoulders and hauling him back into the folding chair before walking back behind the camera. "We understand each other?" he asked again.

"Perfectly."

"'Kay Nat, " Toph yelled.

"Right,"his accomplice replied before she pushed the red button again.

Toph pushed the play button on his tape recorder and once again Gabriel was told "and read the card."

  
  


To Be Continued . . .

Thanks for stepping up with the reviews guys, I feel loved now.


	5. Vaticide

Chapter 5:Vaticide 

Jake was exhausted. Thirteen hours was far too long for anybody to work, especially someone in the high stress area of police work. Usually he could pull off everything that needed to get done in a standard eight hours, less than that actually if you considered the amount of time they goofed off. But that was with Sara pulling her share, and sometimes more. Now he was alone and overwhelmed and had wasted half the day worrying about her.

As he pulled out his keys he noticed something. Sitting on the floor right next to his door was a goldenrod envelope with a rectangular bulge in it. As soon as Jake picked up the package he realized that someone had left him a video and as soon as he pooped it into the VCR he realized it was more for Sara than it was for him.

Her phone rang eight times before she answered, and when she did her voice sounded thin, strained, like she had been crying. "Yeah?"

"Sara, I've got something you've gotta see."

"Jake," she said, as if she were a mother with a headache addressing a small, annoying child. "I'm not up to . . ."

"Sara it's serious, it's about Gabriel."

"Gabriel?" Sara said, her voice was trembling.

"There was a tape out my front door," Jake explained. "He's on it."

"He's on it?" She sounded like she was going to cry.

"Are you alright?" he asked compassionately.

"I'm fine," she insisted, pulling herself together. "I can be there in about twenty minutes."

"Ok," Jake said, a bit uncertainly. "You sure you're alright to travel?"

"Of course I am," Sara snapped. "I'll be right there." She hung up the phone, leaving Jake to feel sick again, it was a feeling he never quite got used to.

* * *

"Hey Chief," Gabriel said. The young man looked like hell, or more accurately, like he had been drawn through hell. The whites of his eyes were such a bright red that they seemed to be glowing, Jake wondered how he could possibly be keeping them open. The skin around his eyes seemed to be red too, Jake recognized it as a rash that usually developed after being sprayed by quality mace. He now understood how they could have kidnaped him so effectively, there would have been no way for him to fight if he were blind. There was blood on his face too, it looked like someone had punched him, and a cut on his forehead somehow lost in his bangs, was creating a red river down the side of his face. But the most striking thing about Gabriel was how calm he was. He kept his eyes trained on a point behind the camera, assumably the kidnappers, and only glanced at the screen occasionally, as if to make a point. "They, ah they want me to read off this card which is totally ridiculous. You'd know I was only telling you what they wanted me to and it would only piss you off more. I tried to explain that to them but, ah you can see where that got me. They want you to know that this is your fault," he looked at the camera, it felt to Jake as if the boy was looking directly at him, seeing his part of the crime, comprehending his guilt. "But it's nat," he coughed. "Sorry, I mean it's not," he glanced away again. "They also want you feel helpless, which is absolutely ridiculous, because you're not helpless Sara, I know that. And I'm not helpless either." He looked at Jake with his piercing red eyes again, " I mean this situation, it's Toph." He coughed again, "Tough." He looked down at his hand for a moment. "They ah, probably don't want me to tell you this, but I think you should know." When he looked at the camera again his eyes weren't afraid, but they were filled with a determined bravery. Jake couldn't understand how a kid so young could be so unafraid. "They're not gonna kill me, they're not that stupid. But I have an awful lot of bones and, ah, there's a high probability that a bunch of them will be in more than one piece." Jake could feel Sara choke back a sob. He turned his head and saw that she was trembling, holding back tears, for the rest of the video message. "So this is probably gonna lead to a broken jaw or something but you do what you have to do. No matter what, Sara.," he actually managed to crack a smile. "I've got nothin' left to lose."

The tape ended like that, with Gabriel smiling, as if he were in total control of the situation. And then nothing but white static. "That's it," Jake said, grabbing his remote and switching off the TV. "There's nothing else on here." He glanced at Sara, who was sitting next to him and saw that she wasn't paying any attention to him. Her eyes were closed, yet tears still seemed to be able to force their way through and stream down her cheeks. One of her hands covered her mouth, but choked sobs were still coming through, and her other hand was wrapped around her waist, as if to hold her steady, but she couldn't keep herself from shaking.

"Sara," Jake said compassionately, sliding next to her and wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and he pulled he to himself. "Shhh, shhhh, it'll be ok."

Sara didn't fight Jake's comforting touch, instead she let him place her head on his shoulder and stroke her hair. Having Sara in his arms would have been paradise for Jake if it weren't for the fact that he knew the situation was engineered. She was drowning, without a life vest, and Jake didn't have one to throw at her. He did what he could, he tried to comfort her.

"We'll get him back, we'll find these people. Gabriel's a smart kid, I'm sure if we watch the tape again we'll find he left us some clues. And, and the phone company, you can't just hide a number, I'll take some work but we'll find these bastards and get Gabriel back."

"I can't," Sara muttered, her head was buried in his shoulder, so what she said was barely understandable.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I'm alone, I can't alone," she cried.

"Hey, hey," Jake said, pulling Sara away from him so that he could look her in the eyes. He hadn't known her for long, but he had known her in situations much like this and she had never lost it like this. Even when Conchabar was killed she hadn't displayed this kind of hopelessness and helplessness. "You're not alone," he said forcefully. "I'm with you. I've got your back."

Sara looked at Jake, her lower lip trembling, her eyes lined with tears. He had never, never wanted her to feel like that and he would do anything to make it stop. "You don't understand."

"I want to."

Sara just shook her head, maybe she meant that it didn't matter, maybe she meant that he wouldn't be able to. She took some deep breaths, tried to pull herself together, only partially succeeding, and pushed away from Jake. "I gotta get going."

"No," Jake said. His voice was a wall that, usually, she would be able to knock down with a look. But tonight she couldn't, she felt like she didn't have any strength left. "You're in no condition to be wandering the streets. You're staying here. Until we find Gabriel this is your home."

"It's too risky, Dante could . . ."

"Sara, going outside in the state you're in now is too risky. You can't think, you can barely even breath. You're staying here."

Sara didn't say anything, she just nodded and complied as he led her to his bed and helped her take her shoes off. It was like taking care of a child, Jake thought, as he tucked her in, and he wondered what on earth could take the strongest women he knew and make her crumble before him like paper.

***

"Toph," Nat said, her voice raising to an almost innocent sounding question. 

"Yeah," he muttered, his head was buried in the pillow. They had to get up and work in the morning, keep up appearances until they had enough cash to disappear to the Virgin Islands and live like royalty. 

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Who?"

"The guy we kidnaped."

"I don't care."

"Well, are we gonna kill him?"

"I don't know."

"Are we just going to let him go?"

"We're going to do whatever our client wants us to."

"But he didn't really want to get the man in the cage, right? He wanted to get the guys girlfriend Sara?"

"Yeah,"

"So maybe he'll just let him go."

"So?"

"So then, what if he can identify us, you know? He could call the cops and tell them who we are."

"He doesn't know who we are."

"Yeah, but he could give them our description," she was sitting up in bed, and working herself into a panic, Toph just wanted to smack her.

"If you're so worried about this why don't I just cut out his eyes?"

"Seriously?"

"Sure, why not?"

"That could work," she said slowly. "But then what if he described us to the police or something?"

"Fine I'll cut out his tongue too."

"Get out."

"His eyes and his tongue or we'll kill him."

"You're serious?" 

"Dead serious, dead tired," he said, burring his head in the pillow. "Don't worry Nat."

"Ok," she said, taking a deep breath and snuggling back into the warm covers. "Ok," she muttered as she drifted of to peaceful dreams.

***

Sara was being led through a mob of people screaming at the tops of their lungs in some horrible, guttural language. She recognized it as English, but still, she could only understand one of the sharp words that assaulted her ears, 'witch!' She had been told by a priest that it meant sorcerer, and that that was what she was. She had tried to explain to the priest that she was not a witch, that she was just a simple girl from Orleans and that God had given her a gift. She was not vain, she did not think that all the French victories she had overseen were a result of her particular cleverness, she was only a girl, what could she possibly know about war? She admitted that there was a supernatural force behind her, any fool could see that. But it wasn't the devil, it was God. God wanted France to be free, and as proof of his will he had chosen an innocent country girl to lead the army. The English priest didn't believe her, he called her a witch and said that, to save her soul, she must be burned at the stake. Sara started crying, she was so confused. She believed in the priesthood, she believed in the holiness and authority of Christ as manifested in these black-cloaked men. And yet, here was one such man telling her that her gift had not been from God, it had been from the devil. She felt obligated to believe him, yet she knew he must be wrong. If only her gift had not been stolen from her she would have been able to transform into her true self, a holy warrior, right before his eyes.

But she no longer had her gift, which was the true point of her uncertainty. If God had really meant for her to do what she had done, would he have let the English take her gift away? What if the sword of righteousness really was a sword of the Devil? What if the English priest was right?

These doubts crippled Sara's spirit as she was led to the pile of brush and kinder that would be her grave. Her faith in God and in what she had done was still vibrant, but she didn't want to even try and fight back or escape for fear that her faith might be misplaced. If that were true and she had, somehow, unwittingly, been the tool of evil, she wanted those sins burned off of her, no matter what the cost.

The priest who had told her she was a sorceress was standing in front of her as she was tied to the post. He yelled to the crowd in the messy grunts and howls that composed the English language, if it could even be called a language. The crowd screamed and the priest turned to her, speaking a mangled half-French with an English accent. "Do you confess to being a witch and the murderer of thousands of godly Englishmen?"

"I am a servant of God," she said. The words, so simple, so elegant, spoken in beautiful French, tasted like honey on her lips.

"Than you deny these charges and align yourself with the king of liars, Lucifer himself, who gave you the power to commit these heinous deeds!"

"I have done what I have done by God's will alone."

"Then God alone will have mercy on you," the priest said, then he spat on her. The crowed cheered and, as soon as the priest was a safe distance away from the pile of wood and brush, it was lit.

"God forgive them," Sara said as she smelt the first wisps of smoke. "And God forgive me for any transgressions against your spirit."

She started reciting the 23rd Psalm, but soon she could not speak for coughing.

***

It sounded like Sara was dying. Screams were mixed with violent fits of coughing the likes of which Jake had never heard before. As he bounded up the stairs two at a time his mind searched for possibilities. She could have been drowning, which seemed impossible, or surrounded by fire, which also seemed implausible, or very, very, sick, which seemed possible, or having a hellish nightmare, which was likely. And indeed, when he burst into the bedroom, she was safe, relatively, writhing in the sheets, consumed by some nightmare. "Sara," he said, hoping to pull her out of it. "Sara, Sara wake up!" 

He climbed onto the bed and grabbed her by the shoulder's and holding her still. "Sara!"

Her bright green eyes snapped open and were filled with such a terror that, for a moment, Jake felt afraid. Sara pitched forward, leaning on Jake's shoulder and gasping for breath. "It's ok," Jake said, his voice shaking a little as he put his arms around her and started stroking her silky brown hair. "Shhhh, shhhh, you're safe, it's fine." He could feel his t-shirt slowly become damp as tears flowed out of her eyes, but she wasn't sobbing, she didn't have enough breath for that. "That must have been one hell of a dream."

"It was real," Sara said, her voice was scratchy from yelling so loud. "All my dreams are real."

Jake didn't know quite what to make of that so he just continued stroking her head. "What was it about?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded kind.

"I was Joan of Arc. I was alone."

"Joan of Arc?" Jake said, licking his lips and racking his brain to remember who that was. "Didn't she save France?"

"Only to be burned at the stake by the English."

"You dreamed you were being burned at the stake?"

"I was," Sara said, knowing a dream that vibrant had to be real. Then she remembered what Elizabeth Bronte had said about time, how every moment is infinite, even the horrible ones. "I am."

"Shhhh," Jake soothed, stroking her hair, discounting her revelation as the mutterings of a very frightened person. "It's ok. Everything's gonna be Ok."

They both stayed in his bed the rest of the night, she didn't want to be alone and he wouldn't dream of leaving her. Eventually, they both drifted into a shallow doze, and then a more substantial sleep, neither of them realizing the suggestiveness of the situation and both of them too tired to care.

***

When Sara woke up she could smell bacon. She wanted to roll over in bed and tumble back to sleep, because, at least then, the hollow, empty aloneness that filled her hurt just a little less. But her stomach was also hollow and empty, so she rolled out of bed and started heading downstairs.

From the door of Jake's bedroom the entire apartment was visible, she could see the bacon sizzling in a cast iron pan on the stove and Jake sitting in the living room watching the TV. He had the remote in one hand, a pen in the other. He was taking notes on the tape they had watched last night, writing down everything he said, noting where he was looking when, and trying to listens for sounds that might betray where the victim was being held. This was what good cops did, Sara thought as she looked at Jake's dedication. I should be down there with him, I should be the one to save Gabriel. She was, after all, the reason he had been kidnaped. Sara wanted to go down the stairs, she really did, but something held her back. It felt like someone was holding her heart in an iron grip. So instead of going and helping Jake do the job she knew she should, she sat on the stairs and curled herself in a ball, her head on her knees, watching. After a couple of minutes the sizzling bacon started to smell less appetizing and more burnt, Jake didn't seem to notice.

"Hey," she said, her voice raw and scratchy. "The bacon might be done."

"Hey," Jake said, looking up from the TV. "Thanks." He slowly got up and walked towards her up the stairs, ignoring the bacon. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she said, softly. "Fine."

"You weren't fine last night."

Sara didn't say anything, she just, somehow, managed to pull further into herself. 

"You've gotta open up," Jake said, kneeling down on the stairs in front of her. "Whatever's going on you can trust me."

"No, I can't."

"Sara.."

"No, Jake, I can't."

Jake nodded, "Fine, fine," he said kindly. "I just want to help you."

Sara considered that for a moment, "I'm so frightened," she confessed. "All the time, I'm so frightened."

"Of what?"

Sara laughed bitterly, "What do you think? I'm being hunted by the White Bulls, I can't even go home, my friends are being kidnaped by people who don't even have the dignity to ask for a ransom. The world's against me, Jake, and I am so scared."

"I got your back, Sara," Jake promised. "We will get through this, together."

"I'm all alone," 

"No," Jake said forcefully, "No your not, I'm with you."

Sara looked up at him, the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and more fear than she had ever dreamed she could feel was behind her eyes. "You're not enough."

To Be Continued . . .

  
  


Dear Reader,

I've had an extremely hard week. I've had to tune in no less than two papers over ten pages each (and I would have had to turn in a third if my professor had not been a huge softy and pushed back the due date for a second time). I've had to totally re-read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone so I could write a review for the movie at the school news paper. I've had to tally surveys for my day job and sort slippers for my night job. Add to that time with friends and family and I think we'll all agree that I've had to do a lot this week. And yet, I still found time (whether it be on the bus as I rode from one job to another, or in class while I was supposed to be taking notes, or during times when I should have been writing my papers) to create this fan-fic. 

I'm not telling you this so you feel sorry for me, I set my own schedule, crazy as it is. I just want you to know I'm busy, extremely bussy. As I'm sure you're busy. That having been said, and with full understanding that this is by no means a brilliant piece of fiction, or even fan-fiction, don't you think you could take a couple of seconds out of your day to review it? I mean, wow, with the exception of Iceani, no one's commented on the last chapter. I'm discouraged. Do you know how long it takes to write approximately 3,000 words?

So, with the full support of Meghan (the most wonderful roommate anyone has ever had, who edits these stories and saves you from my abysmal spelling and damned run-on sentences and who is also disheartened -- the word strike has crossed her lips . . .) I'm going to barrow the review-o-saurus and demand that I get at least ten reviews until I post the next chapter. It's a holiday weekend, I don't think it's asking that much. 

Is this begging, yes. But, I hope, begging with an air of dignity.

Sincerely 

Harri Vane 


	6. Unveiling

Chapter 6: Unveiling

Jake felt like he had been slapped, no, more than that, hit by a brick wall. He wasn't enough. He was willing to give Sara everything, well, almost everything, but he wasn't enough. After a long silence Jake reached out and took Sara's arms, gently pulling her up to a standing position.

"You need to eat," he said, hoping that she was too far gone to realize how much she had just hurt him. "You've been run ragged, you'll feel better after a good meal and a shower."

Whether or not she felt better after a good meal and a shower, Jake didn't know. She certainly looked better. Yet, somehow, she still didn't have the vibrancy, the energy, the unbridled force of life, that Jake loved. "Feel better?" Jake asked, it was almost a perfunctory gesture.

"Yeah," she said, her answer was equally mechanical. "Thanks."

"You want another cup of coffee?" Jake asked after a moment of awkward silence. 

"Ah, no actually," Sara said, she was starting to emerge from her daze, apparently the shower had done her good. "Ah, Jake shouldn't you be at work?"

"It's my day off," Jake said, right before he took a sip of coffee. 

"Day off?"

"Wednesday."

"Oh," Sara said, blinking. "Shouldn't you be, ah, be relaxing?"

"No," Jake said emphatically. "You're friend Gabriel is in trouble and we've gotta find him."

"You've been working on it?" Sara asked, her eyes wide with gratitude as he handed her the coffee. 

"Of course," he said passionately. He couldn't have done anything else, the young man was in this noxious position because of Jake. Guilt was a mighty inspiration.

"Have you made any progress?" Sara asked eagerly.

Jake sighed almost ashamed, "Some."

"That's better than none," Sara said, Jake thought he could hear an edge of hope in her voice. "Let's see it."

"Alright he said, leading her into his living room and standing in front of the tv. She stood next to him, he could sense her mussels tense as the image of Gabriel, bruised and beaten, emerged on the screen.

"Gabriel," Sara muttered. Jake waited for to say more, but when he realized she wasn't going to he started explaining.

"I figure wherever he is it's cold," Jake said. "He's got goose bumps all up and down his arms. Which isn't too much help, considering this is New York in May."

"Or he could just be terrified of whoever's behind the camera," Sara said in her training-officer voice.

"Yeah," Jake said uncertainly, "I guess that's a possibility to."

"Anything else?"

"Two things, well, really three."

"Kay?"

"First, Gabriel coughed twice."

Sara nodded, but her face made it clear she had no idea what he was talking about.

"He was telling us something, signaling for us to pay attention. Jake said, fast forwarding to the first incident, and then to the second. Sara watched, trying to see what Jake had seen, and failing. "So?" she asked, after he had shown her the two parts in question three times.

"He looked at the screen, said Toph and Nat, coughed, then corrected himself."

"Tough and not aren't really clues, unless he meant not tough, which really isn't a clue either."

"Come on Sara," Jake sighed, "There's got to be more than that, look at the way he's looking at the screen."

Sara glanced at the TV and she instantly glanced away, Jake knew she hadn't been able to absorb his expression, the mischief and meaning in his eyes; she was probably too hurt by the sight of the blood trickling down his forehead to be able to catch the more subtle aspects. His suspicions were confirmed when Sara choked out, "All I see is blood."

"Right," Jake sighed. "Well, why don't you close your eyes and listen."

Sara stared at him as he rewound the tape. "Trust me Jake, I've heard everything Gabriel said."

"I'm not talking about Gabriel."

"There's no one else on the tape."

"That's not, strictly speaking, true." Jake said. "Just close your eyes and listen really hard."

Sara did as she was told and for a split second, right as Jake hit play she heard two voices, one was the voice of a man, "Are we ready?" then a younger girl, "I'm already taping," then the man again, "Fine." There was a jump in the tape and then Gabe's voice saying "Hey chief," but before he could get the whole hey out, Jake stopped the tape and turned off the TV.

Sara opened her eyes and looked right at Jake, "The kidnapers."

"Yeah,"

"We have their voices," Sara said. "Which would mean something if we could recognize the voice."

Jake's heart sank, "Yeah, I guess so."

"So all we know is that somebody, presumably a man between the ages of 20 and 50 and girl between the ages of 15 and 30, is somehow involved in the kidnaping. That really narrows it down." 

Jake was dying to tell Sara he knew more, he could describe the girl, they could find her. They had proof now, beyond his testimony, that she was involved, proof that was unquestionable. But it didn't mean anything to Sara, because she didn't know. The more Jake looked at her the more he was sure he had to tell her the truth. He believed whole heartedly that the reason she was hopeless was because she felt alone, and the reason she felt alone was because she couldn't trust him. Jake was in the precarious position of either continuing to lie to her and maintaining the facade of a good loyal friend, or telling her the dirty truth and hoping she saw it for what it was, an earnest attempt to fix things. Because Jake was, in his heart, an honest man. Because lies tasted bitter on his tongue and because Sara needed something a little stronger than a facade, Jake decided it was time for the truth.

"Sara, sit down," he said soberly.

"Why?" the caution in her voice made it clear that she knew she didn't want to hear whatever it was he was going to say next.

"Please," Jake said, taking her shoulders and placing her on his soft leather couch. "Wait until you hear everything before you decide whether or not to kill me."

"This isn't sounding good, Jake," Sara said. It was the most Sara-like thing she had said to him all day, sharp with anger and warning.

"I recognize the girl's voice."

"Really!?" her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Jake that's great, if you know who she is we can . . ."

"I recognize it because I hired her, Sara, not Dante."

The Christmas tree turned into a torch held by a lynch mob, "What?" she demanded, flatly and coldly. 

Jake knew it would be his only chance to explain himself so he started talking very quickly, "Dante didn't hire them, Sara. I did, under his orders. He said that it would be a good sting operation, flush the both of you out."

"And kill both of us?" Sara demanded furiously. "God Jake, you were my partner, I trusted you!"

"He didn't say anything about killing, Sara, I'm so sorry," Jake said, as quickly as he possibly could. "I didn't argue because I knew you. You could take care of yourself. I was sure they'd come after you and you'd take them out without any trouble. I swear I didn't know they'd go after your friend Gabriel. If I had known, Sara . . . I am so sorry."

"It's easy telling me you're sorry, try telling that to Gabriel," Sara said, her voice still flat with fury but the torches in her eyes had burned themselves out. Jake couldn't help but think she looked heartbroken, indescribably hurt. He wished he could just melt into the floor and stop existing.

"We can, we will find him. And we'll get those bastards and . . ."

"You're the bastard, McCartey," Sara said. "This whole thing was you."

"I'll fix it." 

"I've gotta go," Sara said. Her voice was strained, her eyes slightly wild. "I can't stay here."

"Sara, I'm sorry," Jake said again, passionately.

"Then fix it," Sara said as she flung her backpack over her shoulder. She didn't say anything as she walked through the apartment, opened the door, and slammed it behind her.

If Jake had lied she would still be there, with him. But she would still have been crippled with helplessness, unable to do what she knew she had to because she didn't have the tools. As it was her spirit had been ignited again, but this time with anger. He knew that that would probably be the last he would ever see her, unless, of course, she showed up in his bedroom one night, pistol drawn, White Bulls bullet under her hammer and a righteous smile on her face. 

* * *

Gabriel couldn't sleep. He wanted nothing more than to dissolve into a heavy darkness and escape from his cage, his broken foot, his newly broken ribs, his swollen eyes, and his persistent hunger and thirst even if it was only for an hour. He didn't care if he would wake up stiff, with a plethora of aches and pains. He didn't care if he would be heartbroken when he awoke, realizing that escape had only been an illusion. All he wanted to do was fall asleep. But he couldn't. So he sat, in a sort of quasi-meditative state for twelve hours, watching the shadows created by the streetlights outside flicker and listening to nothing. His throat was too dry for him to talk to himself, so instead he thought. And as the hours passed his thoughts became less and less lucid so that by morning his thoughts were as incoherent as those of J. Alfred Prufrok.

As he gazed out of his cage, he saw movement coming towards him. Nat was walking towards him with a small brown bag that smelled like a fast food breakfast. Gabriel's stomach growled audibly as soon as he could smell the fat soaked sausages and fried potatoes. He crossed his arms across his stomach and tensed his muscles, physically holding himself back. He was slightly crazy with hunger and thirst, he knew that. But he didn't want to give them any ground, he didn't want them to think he was suffering.

"You hungry?" Nat said as she came up to the cage, shaking the bag and, eventually, setting it on top of his cage.

Gabriel, with more self control than he ever knew he had, simply shrugged, "I could eat."

Nat smiled at him, almost coyly. "Could you not?"

Gabriel shrugged again.

"If I opened this cage, would you attack me?"

"What do you think?"

"You look just a little crazy, maybe a little dangerous."

Gabriel just stared at her, he felt a little crazy, but certainly not a little dangerous. He doubted he'd be able to overpower her, he was sure he wouldn't be able to run away, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"You know," Nat said, slowly walking around the cage. "You're a hard ass kinda guy."

"Whatever," Gabriel said. He was focusing his eyes on a huge spindle of telephone wire about twenty yards away, he didn't want to look at the food and he didn't want to look at the girl.

Eventually, Nat wandered to the point where her shapely legs were directly blocking his field of vision. Gabe glanced away, more out of disgust then out of modesty. But his lustful eyes were drawn to the bag, which just smelled more and more attractive by the second. He quickly glanced away again finally focusing on his hands.

"Hey," Nat said abrasively, Gabriel glanced at her direction, she was leaning down so they were at eye level and her breasts were clearly visible. Gabriel felt horribly uncomfortable. "What do you want more," she asked. "Me or the food?"

"The food," he said, with no hesitation.

Nat looked insulted, almost furious. "Fine," she said, standing up and storming off. 

Gabriel watched her retreat, relieved and bewildered. When he was sure she was gone, he allowed himself to lean forward and position himself directly under the brown paper bag. He was too hungry to consider the state of his human dignity as he clawed at the bag, ripping a hole in the bottom and pulling the standard McDonald's Egg McMuffin and hashbrown down through the gaps in the bars. By bending the cardboard out of shape he was even able to pull the small carton of milk through. He ate the meal slowly, his hands were trembling slightly as he practiced more self control than he had ever had to before in his life. He didn't want to waist a crumb or a drop, he didn't know when he'd eat next. "Oh Sara," he muttered once he was done with the most delicious meal he had ever eaten and pushed the trash once again through the bars. "Come quick." Suddenly, it occurred to him that Sara couldn't hear him, and besides, she would be working as hard as she could to save him, she didn't need to be begged on top of it. "As if asking you will make you work harder," he sighed. Then it, again, occurred to him that she hadn't heard what he had said, and he started to laugh. The realization that he couldn't keep one thought in his head for two seconds struck him as very funny. He fell on his side, he was laughing so hard, tears started streaming down his eyes and he gasped for breath as the sheer hilarity of his state struck him. Finally he calmed down, his unabashed laughter transformed into short, soft bursts of giggles. He rolled over to his back and closed his eyes and, despite the cold and the pain, drifted off into a very pleasant, oblivious, sleep.

* * *

"Danny!" Sara screamed into the air as she walked through Central park at a breakneck pace. "Danny, come down from heaven or I swear to god I'll . . ." she hesitated, what could she threaten a dead man with. "I'll do something." she finally decided on, for lack of anything else.

The other people in the park watched her, keeping their distance and shushing their children's rude questions. In most any other city Sara's behavior would be considered disturbing the peace and she would receive, at least, a citation. In New York, as long as it wasn't hurting them, most people didn't care, and therefor, didn't bother with the cops. So Sara was free to yell for her dead partner in peace. "Danny, Get down here right now!" she screamed.

"You get more flies with honey Sara," his voice said from right behind her. Sara pivoted, violently, and drew in a shocked breath when she saw him standing only inches away. Her surprise quickly turned to anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, before storming off towards the wooded area.

Danny followed, a little confused.

"Gee Sara," Danny said, following her. "All I know is that you were down here screaming your head off. I thought I'd stop you before you embarrassed yourself."

"You know what?" Sara said, "You told me that this was all about Jake, all about trusting Jake."

"And it is."

"Jake is the cause," Sara practically yelled. "Jake hired the kidnapers, he talked to one on the phone . . ."

"And he told you about it." 

"And that makes it better."

Danny didn't answer.

"Trusting him was the biggest mistake of my life."

"On the contrary, Sara, you're closer now to solving this than ever."

"Oh," Sara said harshly. "That brings me to another complaint. What the hell is going on with this?" she demanded as she shoved her right wrist to eye level so that Danny had a clear view of the Witchblade. 

"I don't know Sara," Danny said honestly.

"You don't know."

"No I don't," he admitted. "But it's connected to you, Sara, what do you think?"

"Irons said that it didn't want me to look into the White Bulls, that it had, ah, bigger plans for my life."

"So now we know what Irons thinks, what's important is what you think."

"Danny, I don't know."

"Fine, so you don't know. You were a detective long before you were a wielder, figure it out."

Sara took a deep breath and examined the bracelet which was fused into her wrist. "I don't know," she said softly. "Maybe . . ." her voice trailed off and she looked up at Danny, "What did you say?"

"You don't know . . ." 

"Was that a question or an answer?"

"Answer," Danny said. "You need to learn to remember."

"Remember," She laughed. "I remember being a detective."

"Remember," Danny said, surprised. "Interesting choice of words."

"Your word, not mine."

"Then I must have had a reason for using it."

"You're right Danny," Sara said honestly. But it wasn't a sad honesty that she usually had, it was much more clear and focuses. She had had an epiphany, and for once, it made her feel better. "I was a detective, and I stopped."

"Really?" Danny said, obviously leading her on. She didn't mind one bit, she just kept talking.

"Ever since this . . . thing came into my life, it's been amazing. I've had visions, instincts, flashes of understanding. It's done what only gets done after hours of interviews and a lot of luck."

"Yeah?"

"I got lazy," she said, turning and looking her dead partner right in the eyes. "Perishable skills."

"I guess it's time you took them off the shelf."

"Thanks Danny," Sara said as she started with a determined pace towards the edge of the park where she could pick up a bus. "I will."

To be continued . . .

Thanks for the reviews, please keep it up.


	7. Orders

Chapter 7: Orders

Jake looked at the phone. As he stared at it he realized that he was gambling with human life. While he didn't like gambling with his own life, he had done it a thousand times. He knew his hand and he knew how to play it, but he didn't ever want to gamble with someone else's. Beyond the fact that it was wrong to put someone else in danger (for Jake was indeed far beyond that point), he had no idea how the other person would react. He had meet Gabriel Bowman a couple of times and Sara had talked about him a couple of times. Jake was left with the impression that the young man was both smart and brave and opportunistic (he was a dot-commer after all). But how smart, how brave, how keen on opportunities was unknown, at least to Jake. As he stared at the key pad he made a decision.

His palms started sweating when he dialed the direct number the kidnapers had given him and when the familiar girl's voice answered, demanding "Talk," Jake found his mouth suddenly dry.

"Hey," he finally managed to stutter. "It's me, Jake McCarty."

"I know who it is, what do you want?"

"Ah," Jake stuttered. "I've been talking with Sara."

"The mark?"

"Yeah," Jake stuttered, disturbed by the girls choice of words. "She, ah, she thinks you killed him."

"What?" the girl asked, bewildered. "Didn't you see the tape?"

"Yeah, she thought it was a red herring, she thinks you're taunting her."

"Aren't we? Isn't that what you want?"

"What I want," he said, taking a deep breath, "is for Gabriel to call Sara."

"What?"

"I want you to put him on the phone. He should call Sara and tell her he's alive and that, ah, the whole thing's her fault."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Did you see that tape, he doesn't read from cards."

"Put a gun to his head, he will."

"You know, that doesn't really work. Did you even see the tape?"

"Look, if you want the rest of your money you'll do it."

"Yeah, that brings me to another question, how are you gonna pay us? And when is this job gonna be done?"

"When Sara comes to me and says Gabriel called her, I'll call you and work it out."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," Jake said, again, taken aback by her choice of words. "Call Sara."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up the phone. He was feeling sick again.

***

Sara sat in waiting room outside of Christopher McCann's office. He was taking a very important call and would be with her in a moment. "I'm sure he'll be right with you Miss Pezzini,' the secretary said. "He's on an important call right now, I'll let him know you're here as soon as he hangs up."

"Right," Sara said, sighing and sitting down on the couches across from his door. They felt like cardboard. She considered picking up one of the magazines in the waiting area, but they were mostly about health and fashion, neither were subjects she was particularly interested in, so instead she decided to watch McCann through the fogged glass on his door. He seemed to be very upset at whomever he was talking to, he kept clenching and unclenching his fists and, for some reason, his silhouette gave Sara the impression of a violent man. When he opened the door, after his call was over, his face was very red. "God damn those asses in billing, like it's so hard to find the right New Jersey zip code."

"I don't know," Sara interrupted. "It's been my experience it's hard to find anything in New Jersey."

McCann's red face suddenly became white. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Sara with something like terror in his eyes.

"Sir," The secretary said nervously. "Miss. Pezzini from the NYPD is here to see you again."

Cautiously, Sara took a step forward, "Are you alright, Mr. McCann?" Sara asked, it was almost an accusation, If he wasn't alright, she wanted to know why. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that she had no real reason to be suspecting him of anything nefarious. Still, every ounce of instinct inside of her told her she had her man. "Is something wrong?"

He looked at her with sharp suspicion, she could almost see the thoughts dancing around in his head: 'Does she know?' 'Will she figure it out?' 'Is there someone else I can blame?'

The man opened his mouth, presumably to lie, but he was interrupted by a ringing on Sara's cell phone. McCann almost smiled, "Perhaps you should answer that," he said with a forced calm. "Please, use my office."

Sara looked at him skeptically, what she wouldn't give now for the Witchblade to give her a flash of insight, a moment of knowledge. But still, her weapon remained silent. 

"Thanks," she clipped, as she pulled out her phone and walked into his office, closing the door behind her. What Sara really wanted to do was sit at the keyhole and listen to what McCann did and said. But the phone was ringing and, even though Sara didn't recognize the number, she had a sense that she should answer it.

"Yeah?" she snapped as she kept her eyes on the silhouettes through the fogged glass on the door and her ears strained to hear what was going on in the next room.

"Hey Sara," Gabriel's voice said, soft, strained, and trembling just a little. "How you doin'?"

"Oh my God!" Sara said, quickly forgetting everything around her but his voice. "Gabriel, are you alright, where are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, relatively."

"Relatively? Oh God Gabriel, if they've hurt you . . ."

"Sara, Sara, I'm fine, really. I just need you to find me."

"I will, I swear Gabriel. Soon. But I don't know where you are, could you possibly tell me? Anything, anything at all?"

"I don't know Sara," Gabriel said apologetically. 

"That's alright," she said, trying to sound as supportive and encouraging. "I'll find you, just sit tight, I will find you."

"Ok," Gabriel said, it sounded to Sara as if he was building up courage, "Pez, I got something to tell you."

"What?" she asked eagerly.

She heard him take a deep breath "One's a man thirty-fiveish, six and change, just over 200 pounds, dirty blond hair. There's a girl late teens, five six, 'bout a 100 pounds, blond . . . . . ." Then there was a sort of thud and clatter, it sounded to Sara like the phone had been knocked out of his hand.

Sara's heart stopped as there was a moment of silence and then started again violently as the familiar voice of the young woman from the video said, "He was lying! He doesn't know what he's talking about!"

"I swear I will hunt you down," Sara said, articulating every word with a precise venom in her voice.

"Ah," the girl whimpered weakly, "bye." and the phone went dead.

"Hello?" Sara demanded into her cell phone, "Hello?" but there was no answer. She lowered it from her ear and looked at it, on the little display screen there was a phone number with a New York area code. Ten damning digits. She knew it was hopelessly foolish to think that she had just found the phone number of the place where Gabriel was, anyone who could hide an eight hundred number couldn't possibly be foolish enough to let run of the mill caller-id identify them. But still, just maybe they could.

Sara quickly jotted down the number on a pad of paper on McCann's desk and then, quickly, called Jake.

"McCartey."

"Hey," Sara said. "I need you to check out a number for me."

"Yeah," Jake sounded hesitant, maybe he was just busy. "'Kay, I've got a pen and paper, shoot."

"Eight, six, one, five, five, five, nine, three, four, two."

"Three, four, two . . ." Jake said slowly. "Got it."

"If it's a building I want you to go there right away, I think it's were they're keeping Gabriel."

"Really?"

"If it's a person get me name, address, work, everything, got it?"

"Sure, Sara," Jake said. 

"Thanks," she was about to hang up but he kept talking

"Sara?"

"What?"

"Does this mean you trust me?"

She hesitated on that question, did she trust Jake? She hadn't meant to, she hadn't consciously decided to forgive him for hiring a hit man to abduct her friend. She had called him purely out of instinct, habit, and because, otherwise, she would have no idea who to call.

"No, it means I need you," she said. "As soon as Gabriel's safe we can talk about trust."

"I'm so sorry Sara."

"Then find him," she said hanging up. With a deep breath she put her cell phone in her pocket and ripped the leaf of paper with the kidnappers number off the pad. Folding it in half she put it in the back pocket of her jeans as she walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you for letting me use your office, Mr. McCann," she said politely. She was going to add that the call had been very important police business but when she looked at him she noticed something startling, he was thirty-fiveish, six and change, just over 200 pounds, with dirty blond hair.

"Um," she stuttered quickly, glancing away so that he couldn't see the shock of realization in her eyes. "I just had one quick question for you."

He seemed nervous, "Ask away."

"Any luck finding that number?"

"Ah," he seemed relived, "no, no, sorry."

"That doesn't surprise me," Sara said, trying to make her voice sound light and congenial. "Well, thanks for your time."

McCann looked at her like he expected more, "That's it?"

"That's it."

"Oh," he said, "Well, thank you then, or, you're welcome I guess."

Sara smiled and him as he turned, uncertainly, and backed into his office. Once the door was closed Sara decided to drop her 'friendly' demeanor, she turned to the secretary, Mrs. Tripper, with her usual cool, calculating, cop attitude.

"So," she said, not even pretending to make small talk, "You've worked for him long?"

"Do you suspect him?"

"Maybe. You know anything?"

The secretary sighed and glanced away. She was a house wife type of woman, not thin but not fat either, a nice weight of a woman who's to busy to care about body image. She had thin hands that must have been good at typing and a soft face made softer by the perm in her black hair. Sara got the feeling that Mrs. Tripper didn't want to betray her boss. But Sara also had the feeling that she wanted to be connected with something illegal even less. "I really don't want to . . ."

"Look, I can ask you these questions here or I can ask you them downtown, it makes no difference to me," Sara said. That was a boldfaced lie, but Mrs. Tripper didn't know that, besides it sounded impressive.

Mrs. Tripper seemed to make a decision. "In all honesty, Miss Pezzini," the secretary said softly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind it."

"Really?"

"Toph has this dark side to him, sometimes you can tell something's not quite right."

"Excuse me, what did you just call him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. McCann."

"No, you used a nickname or something."

"Do you mean Toph?"

"Yes," Sara said her voice cool and restrained, excitement was bubbling up inside her, she kept a lid on it. 

"It's short for Christopher, I don't know why he doesn't just go by Chris."

"So he uses that name often?"

"Everybody calls him that."

"Son of a bitch," Sara said under her breath, Jake had been right about the video.

"Excuse me?"

"Is there someone, a girl, younger, named Nat?"

Mrs. Tripper looked uncomfortable, "Do your really need to know this, it's so personal . . ."

"He's suspected of being a kidnaper for hire," Sara said, her voice was hushed and serious. "If you want I could show you the video tape they sent the man's friends. Do you want to see the blood dripping down his face? The look in his eyes when he talks about the gun pointed at his head?"

"His girlfriend's name is Natalie," Mrs. Tripper finally said, her voice was trembling, but behind that there was a sort of defiant boldness. "You're looking for a hidden eight hundred number?" she said hoarsely.

"Yes."

"He could do that, he's probably one of three people in the phone company who could do that."

"Thank you," Sara said earnestly, before she turned around and started to walk out of the building.

"Aren't you going to arrest him?" Mrs. Tripper asked. She seemed nervous, possibly afraid. Sara couldn't help but think that it would be horrible to discover that one's boss was a criminal and then, still have to work for him, still have to pretend everything was alright. Sara herself hadn't been able to do that, she hoped that Mrs. Tripper had more self restraint than she did. 

"If I arrest him he could decide not to tell us where the young man is being kept," she said quickly and professionally, she didn't think Mrs. Tripper realized this was an excuse. "I need to follow him to his victim."

"I see," Mrs. Tripper said uncertainly, and quickly added, "Good luck."

Sara smiled at the house-wifey secretary warmly, "Thank you."

She walked quickly out of the little lobby outside of his office and, as soon as she was in New York Bell's white marble main lobby, she pulled out her cell phone. 

"McCartey," Jake's voice said crisply as he picked up on the other line.

"You find that phone?" Sara demanded

"Yeah, it's ah, um," he said, she could hear the rustle of papers behind him across the phone line and she could imagine him digging around in a mess of file folders looking for a slip of paper. "A warehouse," he finally said. "Way over on Staton Island. I was just about to leave when Carter came in and . . ."

"Never mind Jake, I need you to do something else for me," Sara said. 

"Anything," his voice was eager, hopeful, he wanted to earn some forgiveness. He needn't have bothered with that, Sara didn't have the luxury of being mad, she had to focus on Gabriel.

"You've gotta come here, to the telephone building, and track Christopher McCann, he's our kidnaper."

"Don't you want to do that?" he didn't even ask how she knew, he was too desperate for absolution. 

"I can't," Sara said bitterly, "I don't have a bike, remember?"

Jake remembered all too well, "Sure," He said almost apologetically, "no problem. But what about the warehouse?"

"Give me the number, I'll find it."

"Right," Jake sighed, before reading off the address.

"Thanks," Sara snapped, really meaning 'goodbye.'

"Hey Pez," Jake said, before she could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"Are we cool?"

It took her a moment to register the question. Her focus was Gabriel, his focus should have been Gabriel too. How could he even think of their relationship when an innocent victim was in such dire trouble? "Jake," she said angrily, "You follow this jackass McCann and you find Gabriel and you get him back safely and then I'll decide whether or not we're cool." She said angrily. She pulled the phone away from her ear violently and stabbed her finger on the 'off button.' Then, with a disgusted sigh, started heading west, towards Staton Island and Gabriel.

***

Jake slowly lowered the phone. He shouldn't have asked her and he knew it, and he had known that asking her would only upset her, but he had, for some inconceivable reason, asked her anyway.

He suddenly felt the way Sara had appeared last night; beside himself with helplessness as someone he loved went through hell.

Jake took a deep breath and set himself to the task. He grabbed his coat and started making his way through the bull pin. He was hoping to slip out without anyone's notice, but as he walked casually past Captain Dante's office his hopes were dashed.

"McCartey," Dante barked, "Come in here, I wanna talk to you."

Jake walked up to the door and leaned in, his very stance screaming that he had someplace to go, something important to do that really couldn't wait. "Yeah?"

Dante looked at his protege suspiciously, "Goin' somewhere?"

"Gotta go check up on a suspect."

"Really?" Dante seemed interested, which was odd, considering checking up on suspects was a routine, often uninteresting, task in police work. "Isn't this your day off?"

"Yeah," Jake said slowly. "But, ah, he's gonna rabbit if I wait any longer."

"Who is this suspect?"

Jake's back was beginning to hurt and it was becoming obvious that Dante had no intention of letting him speed off. The detective took a step forward so that he was fully in the doorway and then leaned coolly against the frame. "His name is Christopher McCann."

"And who do you think Mr. McCann killed?"

"Nobody, Sir."

"McCartey need I remind you, you are a homicide detective."

"He's the guy from the magazine, Cap," Jake said, deciding that, if he wasn't stealthy enough to help her directly, he might be able to help her indirectly by keeping Dante the hell away from her. He walked fully into his bosses office and leaned over the Captain's desk. "I think I've got 'im."

What Dante had been expecting to hear, Jake didn't know. But he sure hadn't been expecting that, he leaned backwards in his chair, eyes wide, before cracking a sort of crooked smile. "Is that so?"

"I'm pretty damn sure."

"And Pezzini?"

"She is so freaked."

There was a wicked light behind his eyes, "They get her?"

Jake hesitated, "Well, ah, not quite."

"Not quite?"

"The guy's sick, sir. I asked him to get her and instead he kidnaped her best friend."

"That doesn't sound sick, McCartey, that just sounds stupid."

"She's still a mess though, sir," Jake quickly added. 

"Well," Dante sighed, "I guess that's something." The captain pushed his chair back and started to get up.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you McCartey," Dante said, as if that would be the only logical thing for him to do. "This was my idea after all."

Jake stared at the captain, blankly.

"Anything wrong detective?"

"No sir," Jake stuttered. "I'm just not used to you, ah, taking initiative like this sir."

"You know something, McCartey," Dante said as he started putting on his coat. "This is my baby, I'm gonna see it through."

Which meant, he'd push it until Sara died. "Alright sir," Jake said, nodding in what he hoped was his best dutiful-son smile. He suddenly felt a deep kinship with Brutus. "Let's go."


	8. Recalcitrant

Chapter 8: Recalcitrant

Nat looked at Gabriel with something akin to terror, but not totally unrelated to rage in her eyes. She licked her lips and when she spoke to him her voice was trembling. 

"Why did you tell her that?" she practically screamed. 

Gabriel looked back at her, too tired and annoyed to be bewildered, "You kidnaped me," he said flatly, without tone or expression in his voice. 

"She could come and kill us!" 

"She won't kill me," he said calmly from the floor were he was sitting as she paced in front of him, pounding the cordless phone into the palm of her right hand with her left. The gun, a small revolver, was sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans looking very silly and somehow fake. Ordinarily Gabriel would have been amused, but now he was just too weary. So he sat on the floor and massaged his hand. She had violently woken him about ten minutes before from his much needed sleep, persuaded him to crawl out of the safety of his cage by promising him a phone call with Sara, and when he nervously complied she stuck a cordless phone in his hand and a gun to his head and ordered him to dial. And he had. And then, without warning, she had kicked the phone out of his hand. Not that Gabriel blamed her, nor had her reaction surprised him, but his hand still hurt. His fingers, which had been red from the cold, started to look to like they might begin swelling, and if he tried to move them a sort of dragging pain convinced him to stop.

"You don't care about us at all?" 

Gabriel looked up at her. "You kidnaped me," he said again. 

"Well what if I killed you?" the girl said, pulling the gun out of her pocket. 

"Then I promise that Sara will kill you."

The girl chewed on her lower lip for a moment and then, leaning over so that her breasts were right at his eye level asked, "Well, then, what if I kissed you?" 

Gabriel averted his eyes upward, so he could see her face, and stared at her blankly. As she knelt down so that their faces were inches apart and slid the gun across the floor until it collided with a huge spool of telephone wire, one thought filled his mind, she's psychotic.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel asked trying to keep his voice calm. Her sudden closeness to him was creating the effect the gun had not, he suddenly found his heart racing: he had no idea what would happen next and he couldn't help but dread the worse.

"Isn't it obvious?" Nat said, her voice suddenly raspy and lustful. She wrapped her left arm around his neck, pulling their heads closer together. Gabriel, sitting awkwardly on the cold cement floor, didn't have the leverage to pull away. Her other hand she placed on his chest, "your heart's racing," she muttered. He could smell cinnamon flavored Tic-Tac's on her breath.

"Get away," Gabriel said. His voice didn't sound convincing, even to him. She had kidnaped him, kept him in a cage, left food out of his reach, and had, seconds ago threatened to kill him. But as she pressed her body against his he was suddenly warmer than he had been in days and after so many abuses he could feel himself get drunk on her gentle caresses. 

"You don't like it?" she whispered her right hand sinking lower and lower on his torso. "It doesn't feel good?"

"Just get off," he told her, forcing out every word by sheer will.

"Come on," she insisted. Their lips were so close that every time either of them spoke hers brushed his in a sort of precursor to a kiss. Gabriel knew that the easiest thing in the world at that point would be to just go with the flow, lean forward ever so slightly, and let her do everything else. He was warm, she was gentle, it was nice. He felt himself leaning forward, and he felt as much as heard, Nat giggle. Her hand had reached it's destination and his head was starting to swim. This felt like a dream.

He closed his eyes, hoping that it would give him a way to focus, a means of gaining perspective, of gathering will power. But as soon as he was enveloped in darkness and he couldn't see Nat's face above him his mind raced to every girl he had ever been attracted to; Phillis his best friend in highschool, Laura Croft, Yeoman Jancie Rand, Princess Leia, Mama Michelle Philips, and more. With his eyes closed the girl could be anyone Gabriel had ever fantasized about. With his eyes closed he had no way to convince himself that what was happening was sick and wrong and even evil. His sudden fear of his own weakness channeled itself into anger and strength, his eyes snapped open, and with teeth clenched he managed to say "Get off," in a hard authoritative voice.

She pulled away, slightly, surprised by his determination. 

"Get off!" he said again, louder. 

His tone of voice must have surprised Nat. She pulled herself away from him ever so slightly and confusion fogged her eyes, "What?"

This slight break in the tension was exactly what Gabriel needed, he was able to draw himself together, grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him. She stared at him with utter shock in her eyes, she seemed to have no idea why he would reject her advances. She couldn't seem to understand that, at any time in any situation, a man would choose not to have sex with her. "You a homo?" she asked, her mind was obviously searching for reasons why any man wouldn't sleep with her.

"Isn't that big thug your boyfriend?" Gabriel accused, ignoring her question.

"He'll never know," she said, creeping forward, assuming that his problem must have been a logical fear of Toph.

"Stay away," Gabriel warned, his arms outstretched, an almost violent gleam in his eye. "Do you have any idea how crazy and sick you are?"

She looked at him with a sort of childish pout, "Don't you like me?"

"NO!" Gabriel said emphatically.

"Not a little?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

She started blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry and smear her gaudy makeup. Gabriel was a compassionate young man, and she was a sad, pathetic, person. Under normal circumstances he would try and comfort her, find some small virtue, and assure her she had worth. But not now. Now he was just disgusted.

"You know what?" he said, rolling onto his hands and knees. "I'm going back to that cage."

"What?" her voice trembled, she was about to cry.

"I'd rather be locked in there than out here with you," he said harshly, not caring enough to spare Nat any pain. He crawled to the cage and swung the door shut, not bothering to do the lock. He scooted to the very back of the small space, closed his eyes, and took some very deep breaths. That had been close, he had been tempted, and he was deeply, deeply afraid. Not of them, his captors, but of himself.

* * *

Sara took the subway to the ferry, the ferry across the river, and a cab to the warehouse. It was a large, well kept place, not the run down junkhouse she had expected. It was surrounded by high fences and small black, boxy security cameras. But, much to Sara's relief, there didn't seem to be a guard, only an electronic box that scanned key-cards and would open the gated door automatically. Sara didn't have a key-card, but she did have an able body and a lot of determination. She found a place where the cameras seemed to be slightly less populated than any other and made quick work of the twelve foot fence. Once on the other side, she found the first warehouse door unlocked, apparently the phone company had entirely too much confidence in a lousy twelve foot fence.

The inside of the warehouse was vast and cool. The only light was from the series of foggy glass windows on the ceilings and a series of foggy barred windows streaming down the north and south walls. The place was huge and open, with thin cement pillars holding up the ceilings and hundreds of thousands of miles of telephone wire making the fast space seem, somehow, claustrophobic. Gabriel could be anywhere and it could take her the better part of an hour, poking her head into every nook and cranny to find him. Sara stood still for a second and listened, maybe she would be able to hear something, voices, footsteps, breathing . . . anything. But with the constant drone of the warehouse venting system, and the odd echos which distorted the sounds in the warehouse, Sara was given no hints. So, she decided to jump up on one of the huge spools of telephone wire and take a look around, maybe call out Gabriel's name. But as she reached the nearest spool, one that seemed fairly easy to climb, there was a bright flash as the Witchblade decided to come out of it's dormancy.

Sara gasped for breath. She hadn't expected for the Witchblade to give her a vision, she had stopped expecting it. And when she saw what it had to show her, she wondered why she had wanted her visions back in the first place. Gabriel was shivering, curling himself up in the very back of a small cage. He wasn't shivering from the cold, though his hands and feet were red and his nose seemed to be running. He was shivering from fear. Sara, in the real world, reached out to help him but that very motion seemed to trigger something. She watched the scene rewind, she saw Gabriel clime into the cage she saw him crawl away from a girl, she saw him push the girl away, she saw him with the girl on his lap her hands down his pants, she saw them kiss, she saw them talk intimately, she saw the girl mount him, she saw them arguing as the girl stood over him, she saw the girl kick the phone out of his hand. Sara exhaled, almost violently, and took a step back; she was trembling too. She blinked, trying to understand what she had been shown, trying to understand why she had seen it. She backed up against another spool and sank to the ground. She had wanted the Witchblade's guidance so much that she hadn't even considered the possibility that it might guide her to someplace she didn't want to go. "Everything is connected," she muttered to herself, it was sort of a mantra of hope. For some inexplicable reason she believed that, if everything was connected, everything would be Ok. With her eyes closed she could see again the image of Gabriel trembling in his cage, everything had to be Ok. 

Sara quickly decided on a course of action, she would stay low, hiding, and scope out the situation. She would ensure he was safe and then she would get the bastards who had kidnaped him (hopefully she would be able to do that without him seeing it) then she would let him out of that horrible little cage and then they would leave. That was a good plan, Sara thought. Simple, flexible, direct, and practically foolproof. And it would have worked, if the only people she had been dealing with were fools.

* * *

Gabriel watched Nat the way a trapped mouse watches a cat. He wanted to run, but he couldn't; he wanted to fight, but he couldn't; he wanted it all to be over, but it wasn't. And his resolve was weakening; he was starting to wonder if Sara would be able to find him, if his clues were to vague, if this warehouse was too well hidden. It occurred to him that, for all he knew, he was in Canada, or Alaska, or Hong Kong. He saw no reason to hope for rescue, he saw no reason to hope for anything beyond death.

He could starve himself, Gabriel thought. The next time they left a bag of fast food on top of his cage he would just leave it. After he didn't eat for a while they would stop feeding him and then he would die. That seemed like a messy, painful plan. He'd have to come up with another one. What if, the next time the oafish Toph started threatening him he fought back. He bet he could get his neck snapped fairly easily, a quick swift death. Or he could be beaten to a pulp and left to lie in agony. Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea either. Then it struck him, planing to die was never a good idea. He blinked and shook his head, a process that hurt far too much. Was he insane, trying to think of ways to die? He realized that, although she had a gun, Nat would not be able to harm him if he attacked her; she wasn't the kind of girl who would act for himself. And his cage was unlocked. He had closed himself in it to get away from her, she hadn't bothered to put on the lock. Obviously anyone who would put himself into a cage of his own free will was not going to try and get out of it. He buried his face in his hands, "Oh God, I'm going insane."

"What?" Nat asked, innocently.

Gabriel looked up at her and made a decision. "I'm leaving."

"What?"

He leaned forward and scooted himself to the front of the cage, undid the latch, and crawled out. "I'm leaving," he said.

"You can't," Nat said, scampering to her gun, which lay forgotten on the floor. She swung around and aimed it directly at Gabriel, who was struggling to his feet. "I'll shoot you."

Gabriel stared at her, his eyes asked, somewhat doubtfully, 'will you?'. Her eyes answered him 'no.'

Gabriel nodded, pushed himself off the cage, almost collapsed, didn't , and started hobbling towards the door. Every time he put any weight on his foot his face contorted into a grimace of pain, but that didn't slow him down. Neither did Nat's insistent demands, "Stop, Stop!" What did stop him was the appearance of Toph at the door.

"What the hell?" the larger man said. Gabriel's mouth suddenly became very dry. 

The much larger man looked at him, his upper lip twitching furiously. Gabriel met his gaze with a bravado he didn't feel. "That's it, I'm done."

"You think you're leaving?"

"Hey look," Gabriel said casually, as if he were Toph's supervisor at work and confronting him about some minor flub in his department. "I'm done being the victim. Whatever sick game you're playing with Sara, you can play alone."

* * *

Sara watched, wide eyed, encouraged and terrified, as her best friend stood on his own two feet, one of which was a grayish purple and visibly swollen. His face was set with determination, but fear, or maybe it was just pain, was making the muscles around his eyes twitch in just the smallest sign of weakness. Sara felt that dagger in her gut again, she wanted to jump out and slay the bastard who'd done this to her friend. She sucked in a lungful of the warehouse's cold, dry air and prepared to lunge herself out into the fray, but before she could do so, Danny appeared in front of her.

"Don't," was all he said. He was whispering, despite the fact she was the only one who could hear him. 

Still, Sara took her cues from him, "Don't," she demanded harshly under her breath. "Don't what, save him?"

"If you go out there now Gabriel will never be able to get back what they took from him."

"What did they take?" Sara asked, sure whatever it was she would be able to find it and give it back to her friend.

"His dignity," Danny said simply, "His humanity."

Sara looked at her dead friend, slack jawed, then she turned to looked at her living friend. As she stared at the younger man, she stored up all the pain and fear and hopelessness she had felt in the last few days and chaneled it into righteous anger and strength. She willed Gabriel to do the same.

"I could kill you," Toph said, making it quite clear that this was not an idle threat.

"So what?" Gabriel replied cooly. "Right now that doesn't even matter to me."

"Oh, Gabriel," Sara moaned softly.

"You don't care?" Toph asked viciously. He grabbed Gabriel's filthy wifebeater and drew the younger man close to him, tearing the thin fabric and causing the trembling around the edges of Gabriel's eyes moved to his lips. Gabriel quickly grabbed the Toph's wrist, mostly to keep himself on his feet, otherwise if his shirt ripped, which it was about to, he would have fallen. But Gabriel didn't say anything, he held his icy silence.

With a violent jerk and grunt, Toph threw Gabriel away. The young man couldn't hold on, he half flew, half stumbled across the floor and crashed into a cement pillar. He didn't move to get up, he didn't move at all.

Sara was so shocked by the brutality of the act that, for a moment, she was frozen. She was drawn back into reality by Danny's voice, which was colder and harder than she could ever remember it being before. 

"Go."

She needed no other encouragement.

With a battle cry that came from deep within, she jumped over the spool of telephone wire she'd been hiding behind, her Witchblade drawn, her eyes slightly wild. 

Nat screamed, as did Toph. They both backed away from Sara like scared children.

"I don't know what was going through your head when you took him but I promise you that was the biggest mistake you've ever made."

The pair were to frightened to run. Nat was a ghastly reddish color and choking out sobs, Toph was pale, and there was a look of utter horror in his eyes. And they had every reason to fear her, for all they knew, Sara thought, she was their death.

Toph seemed to muster up some sort of courage, "Hand me the gun," he whispered to Nat, who just started sobbing louder in a more annoying, higher pitch. 

"Shut up," Toph yelled to Nat. "Where's the gun?"

"A gun's not gonna help you," Sara's voice was husky and, in a way, primal. She felt possessed by the Witchblade, all of its millennia of power was flowing through her. She had no idea how terrifying she looked, how wild, how deadly.

"I dropped it," Nat choked out, pointing to the revolver, which was about half way between Sara and Toph.

Sara suddenly felt like Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry. As she glanced at the gun she wanted to ask Toph if he felt lucky, and then call him a punk. Sara smirked to herself and Toph's eyes doubled in size. She assumed that he was too scared to run and get it, she was wrong. 

Toph dived for the small revolver, sliding across the floor and reaching it while Sara only took one step forward. He leveled the gun and squeezed off a shot. She took another step. Toph stared at her, horrified. He didn't know how he could have missed. He didn't realize that the bullet had ricocheted harmlessly off of the Witchblade, as did the five other shots he managed to get off. He did realize he was in trouble.

Nat, on the other hand, had realized that after the first shot at point blank range had not affected Sara in the least. The young girl had run, and Sara, who had been concentrating on Toph, let her go and forgot about her. That is until her shrill voice echoed through the warehouse, "Cops! Toph, God, it's the Cops!" 

"Fuck the cops we've got a God Damn psycho with a knife here!" Toph yelled back.

But Sara could not be so casual about the young girls' screams. Cops, plural, more than one, Jake brought friends. This thing had been White Bulls from beginning to end. The Witchblade suddenly seized her, she saw events unfold from above, as if she were a guardian angel hovering over the scene. She saw Dante storming in, with Orlinsky, Burgess, and Jake on his tail. She saw herself run away. She saw Orlinsky draw his gun and with two quick shots kill Nat and Toph. She saw Dante yell something and then an bang and she saw her body hit the floor. Jake looked like he wanted to run to her, but he held back, he kept with the pack. She saw Dante put the gun he had used to shoot her in Toph's hands. She saw Jake walk over to Gabriel, crumpled on the floor, she saw Burgess walk over and stand next to him. Then she saw Burgess lift his gun and shoot her young, helpless, innocent, and longsuffering friend. 

"No!" Sara screamed, and that reality shattered. Nat was still running back into the warehouse, her lower lip trembling; Toph was still staring up at her, his eyes wide with a rage that could not transcend his fear; and Gabriel was still lying unconscious, but alive. Very quickly, Sara had to make a choice. If she was going to protect Gabriel, she would have to stay, but if she stayed she might get shot, like in her vision. Suddenly she felt the safe, protective, presence of Danny to her right, without even glancing to see if the ghost was really there, or if she was just dreaming him she asked, "What do I do?"

"You can't protect him if you don't protect yourself," her former partner said.

"Danny?" Sara asked again, this time more fervently.

"Run."

  
  


To be continued . . .

  
  


Hey friendly reader! Sorry this took so long but with Finales and Christmas and whatnot I bearly had time to write. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long. Thanks for your patience.


	9. Terminal

Chapter 9: Terminal

"What's going on?" Sara demanded from her hiding place in the middle of one of the huge spools. 

Danny looked down at her, trying to hide the worry on his face, "They're talking, be quiet."

"Who's talking?"

"Dante, Jake, and the kidnapers."

"What?!"

"Sara be quiet."

The detective bit her lip and slouched a little bit lower against the spool. "I can't stay here."

"You leave you're dead, Sara, and Gabriel along with you. Burgess and Orlinsky are still looking for you, be quiet."

"Is Gabriel alright?"

"He's still unconscious."

"Tell me if anything changes."

"I will Sara," Danny said. "Now be quiet."

Sara muttered to herself, but did as she was told. Danny watched nervously as the two White Bulls, walked frighteningly close to the spool where she was hiding.

"We're never gonna find her in here," Burgess said. "We'll be lucky if we find our way out of here."

"Shut up," Orlinski ordered. "We never will find her if you keep making all that noise."

"Why the hell the telephone company need so much wire anyway?" Burgess said as he passed Sara's spool and punched it senselessly. Danny looked down to see Sara, who was jostled and frightened looking up at him, her Witchblade drawn, fear in her eyes.

"Don't," Danny said. "They don't know where you are. Be still and be quiet."

Sara stared at him for a moment, before nodding and, once again, bitting her lip in frustrated silence.

* * *

The plan had been, when they got into the warehouse, Dante would kill Sara, while Orlinsky and Burgess would kill Toph and Nat, then Dante would go over and kill Gabriel, before putting the gun in Toph's hand. And Jake thanked God that that hadn't happened. When they got there Sara was no where to be seen, Gabriel was lying free, unconscious, and the kidnapers were practically begging to be arrested.

"What the hell you set us up for, McCartey!" Toph had yelled from the floor. If he had jumped up to attack the detective it would have been his death. "What kind of bitch did you set on us?"

"Bitch eh?" Dante had asked. "Orlinsky, Burgess, find Pezzini if you can. Shoot anything that moves."

Burgess had opened his mouth, obviously desiring to complain about such tedious task, but Orlinsky had hit him roughly on the shoulder and convinced him to do as he was told. 

As the pair set off, Dante had walked over to Nat, who was trying to fade into the shadows. He drew her into the light and she didn't resist him. "What do you say about it sweetheart?"

"I don't know anything," the girl said, her voice low and lusty. "You guys are cops, right?" she asked, wide eyed. "Cause this guy was keeping that guy in a cage," she nodded towards Gabriel. "I saw it."

Dante seemed way to interested in Nat, his hands had moved from around her arm to around her waist. Toph was looking up at they with a smoldering hatred, but he remained wisely silent. Jake felt disgusted, but he too remained silent. If things went as they were going both Gabriel and Sara would be fine, and that was all he could afford to be concerned about.

"Really?" Dante asked Nat, his voice was becoming lusty as well. "And what did this guy do to you?"

"Take me to your station and I'll show you," Nat promised.

Jake couldn't handle it any more, "Sir," he said, his voice clear and clean and hard. "Don't you think we should call an ambulance for Bowman over there?"

Dante sighed with annoyance and glared over at Gabriel's unconscious form. "He dead?"

"I don't think so sir," Jake said, "He seems to be breathing."

"Then he'll keep," Dante said. "It seems to me that our most pressing issue is what to do with Mr. McCann here."

"What do you mean what to do?" the criminal on the floor said. It seemed fairly obvious that he had already given up hope of getting off scott free, Nat was going to do anything, or rather anyone, to buy her freedom, and to that end she had already stabbed him in the back. "Just arrest me already."

"Jake nodded and started rolling off the Miranda rights as he pulled out handcuffs, "You have the right to remain . . ." his speech was cut short by a loud bang.

Jake snapped his head up and saw McCann lying on the floor, dead, with a bullet right between his eyes. Dante, in a cavalier manner, blew the smoke off of his gun before he threw it on the ground and Nat had buried her head in his shoulder and was whimpering slightly.

"You didn't have to do that," Jake said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "We had him red handed, he would have gone down."

"Why take the chance?" Dante said casually.

***

"What was that?" Sara hissed at Danny as the sound of the single shot echoed through the building. 

"They just killed McCann," Danny said angrily. While the ghost had little sympathy for the man who would kidnap and torture an innocent, he couldn't help but empathize with someone who was killed as they lay helpless on the ground.

"They?"

"Dante," Danny clarified. "Jake had nothing to do with it. In fact, he was moving to arrest him."

"And the girl?"

"She seems to have buddied up with our good captain," the disgust in his voice was very clear. "I don't think she's going to be facing justice either."

"Where's thing one and thing two?"

He quickly scanned the warehouse before saying, "They heard the shot and are heading back. Hush."

Sara obeyed and listened as two heavy footfalls ran harmlessly past her hiding place. 

***

"What the hell?" Orlinsky demanded as the came out of the maze of telephone wire.

"Find anything?" Dante demanded, letting the thugs dead body and the girls clinging position speak for itself.

"Nah," Orlinsky said, "She's not here."

"Damn," Dante muttered. "Well, it would seem that our work here is done. I'm gonna take this young lady to the station for further questioning. You two do something with that," Dante nodded towards Gabriel's still unconscious form. "And McCartey, call the coroner, you heard a bang and stumbled onto a suicide." 

"Ah, Sir," Jake said uncomfortably. "I'd rather take him to the hospital," Jake said. "Lying's not my strong suit."

Dante turned on Jake and searched him with his eyes. Jake stood still, willing himself to exude honesty, although he had seldom told anyone the whole truth since his arrival in New York.

"Right," Dante finally said. "Orlinsky, you call the coroner. McCartey, you and Burgess take care of Bowman . . . you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Burgess said. "We'll take care of him."

***

"Jake and one of the White Bulls are lifting Gabriel up, they're taking him out of the warehouse. Dante is leaving too, with the girl. Another White Bull is staying here, making a phone call," Danny said. "Probably calling the coroner for McCann."

"But Gabriel's alright?" Sara asked, desperate and foolish hope working it's way into her voice.

"He was still unconscious, and they didn't call an ambulance."

"I don't like this at all Danny," Sara said. She looked up at him, her eyes begging for permission to emerge from her hiding place and save Gabriel from those who pretend to be his saviors.

"Don't move," the ghost ordered. "If you're dead you won't be able to help him.."

"I can't just sit here."

"Yes, you can. You have to."

"They have Gabriel, you know as well as I do that they're not going to take him to a hospital."

"I don't know that, Sara. And neither do you."

"Right, why wouldn't they just call an ambulance?"

"Because they're weaving an elaborate lie, and Gabriel doesn't fit into it," Danny answered, slightly annoyed. He happened to know exactly what was going on, and what would happen, even if he couldn't tell Sara. "He went off with Jake."

"Oh, Jake," Sara said viciously. "You mean the bastard that got Gabriel into this in the first place."

"I mean your partner whom you should trust," Danny said.

"Not gonna happen Danny," Sara said bitterly. "Not until I see Gabriel safe and sound."

Danny looked down at his partner with compassion. "No road is easy for you Sara."

"Oh, Danny, when you're right, you're right."

***

The first voice was totally unfamiliar. "It's more trouble than it's worth."

"What trouble?" the second voice, which was familiar, although Gabriel couldn't place it, said. "We just say we found him and brought him in."

"And get yelled at for not calling an ambulance?"

"Come in with your sirens blaring and we can explain we were quicker."

"It's quickest to pull over and bang bang!" The first voice laughed.

"I don't know about you, but I didn't join the White Bulls to kill innocent people."

"He's the Bitch's friend."

"He probably doesn't even know anything about her," the familiar voice insisted. Gabriel's slowly working mind was clearing enough for him to put a name to that voice: it was Jake McCartey's. The younger man wasn't sure whether to feel relieved by that revelation, or more afraid. However, he was wise enough to lie still and be quiet until after they had decided his fate.

"He's just a kid," Jake insisted. "I'm serious, Burgess, you kill him and you'll be a murderer. You've got no justification."

"He could come back to haunt us."

"Or he could be innocent. I'm all for killing the guilty bastards like that guy McCann. But innocent kids . . ."

"You're assuming a lot."

"So are you."

There was a long, horrible moment of silence. 

"Turn here," Jake finally said. "And put on your siren. There's a hospital about a mile away."

"Fine," the first voice said, reluctantly. "We'll just say we found him by the side of the road."

"Works for me. The kid's been knocked out this whole time, he won't know any better."

"Fine," Burgess grumbled again.

***

Gabriel pretended to wake up when he felt the car stop outside of the hospital. He faked a groan, to let them know he was regaining consciousness, then tryed to push himself up and groaned for real as the world around him spun uncontrollably. He closed his eyes tight and rested his head on the car seat.

"Hold tight kid," Jake said, and Gabriel felt a hand on his shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture. "We're at a hospital. You'll be fine."

"Where's Sara?" Gabriel asked, his voice seemed to echo in his head and he decided he didn't want to talk again if he could avoid it.

"I don't know," Jake said honestly. "But If I were you I wouldn't say a word about her to anyone. And you shouldn't try to contact her either. The further away you are from her, the better."

Their heart to heart conference was interupted by the arrival of a couple of orderlies with a stretcher. Gabriel felt himself being lifted onto it and wisked away. He didn't see, or hear rather, any more of Jake McCarty or Burgess. The doctors mostly talked around him except for one, who had very gentle hands and an equally soft, sothing voice. "Gabriel," she said kindly, right after she had ordered a series of x-rays. "Can you open your eyes?"

Gabriel obeyed, and was suddenly assaulted by the unforgiving white lights of an emergency room. "Good morning, I'm Dr. Andrews," she had dark hair, pulled back, and deep wrinkles around her eyes that made her seem somehow motherly. She smiled down at him., "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," he said, his voice echoed in his head again, but it wasn't nearly so bad.

"Good," She smiled down at him. "Do you know what day it is?"

"No," he said, not because he couldn't figure it out, but because it just wasn't worth the effort.

"Can you tell how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Three," he answered correctly.

"Good, very, very good. Now I want you to do something for me, do you think you could wiggel your toes on your right foot?"

Gabriel wiggled his toes as the doctor turned her head to watch this feet. "Good, good," she said, not smiling. "Those were your left toes, try the ones on the other foot now."

Gabriel blinked, and then concentrated on wiggling his toes. It suddenly felt like someone was taking a machete to his foot and hacking it to pieces. He gasped for breath and stoped trying to wiggle his toes, but the pain didn't leave. "Good, very, very good." Dr. Andrews said as much to herself as to Gabriel. Then she turned to her fellow doctors and started yelling orders. Gabriel tried to watch what was going on, but slowly his mind became cloudy and his vision became blurred, the pain in his foot ebbed away, and he let his eyes slide shut. He was lulled off to sleep by the technical conversations of the doctors and the cool metallic noises of their instruments.

***

"It's alright, Sara," Danny said. "You can come out."

Sara grunted as she pushed herself up and then pulled herself out of the large spool. She had been hiding there for over seven hours as she waited for the White Bulls to leave, and then for the coroner to come and then for him to leave and then another hour just to be safe. All of her ached and her stomach was growling ferociously, but her bodily well being was the last thing on her mind.

"Where's Gabriel?" she demanded of her phantom companion. "I've gotta see him."

"You can't," Danny said simply.

"What do you mean I can't?"

"It's impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because they're watching him."

"Who's watching him?" Sara snapped, these evasive answers were getting on her nerves.

"The White Bulls. They expect you to come to him."

"So now they have him?" Sara asked, her voice thin with disbelief. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire!"

"I didn't say they had him," Danny corrected. "He's at a hospital, safe and free. They're just watching him."

"And if I go to see him . . ."

"It's too dangerous Sara," Danny warned. "You have to wait."

"Wait," she said spitefully. "After all this the last thing I want to do is wait."

"But that's what you have to do, regardless."

Sara sighed. "Fine," she spat as she looked around the warehouse blankly because she didn't want to look at Danny and expose how mad at him she really was.

"Besides, there's something else you have to do."

"Oh, really, and what would that be?"

"Talk to Jake."

"Jake," she laughed outright at the ludicrousness of what Danny was saying. "I can't even begin to pretend that I want to trust Jake."

"Pretending doesn't count. You have to actually trust him; you can't do this alone."

"I can."

"You can't," Danny insisted. "I'm not pretending that this isn't a gamble, but he came through today, Gabriel is alive because of him, and him alone." 

Sara stared at her dead friend skeptically, "You can't know that . . ."

"I can," Danny said, his voice was resolute and unquestionable. Sara, defeated in this little argument, looked away.

"You've got to roll the dice on someone Sara."

She sighed, "It might as well be on him." 

The End (well, except for the epilog . . .)

  
  


Authors Note: This entire story should happen during the episode "Apprehension," between the scene where Sara runs away from the TV station and where she climbs into Jake's window. In fact, the very last scene of that episode happens between this chapter and the epilog. SO throw in your ever-handy Witchblade tape if you need to know what happens between Jake and Sara.


	10. Epilog

Epilog

Gabriel sat in the shower with his eyes closed and his mouth open. The water was hot, as hot as he could get it, but still deep down, in the marrow of his bones, he was cold. His two day stay in the hospital had done many things to help him recover from the trauma, he was re-hydrated and properly nourished, the bones in his feet were set, he was taught how to walk with a cast, he was counseled on how to deal with the emotional stress of victimization, and given painkillers that made everything feel just fine, but through it all, he was never really warm. The chill of that warehouse stayed with him. 

And so when he got out of the bathroom he dressed himself in the warmest sweatsuit he had, pulled on the warmest fuzziest socks and shuffled around with an old burcenstoc on his left foot so those socks would be insulated from his apartment's cold wood floors. He also planned to wrap a wool blanket around his shoulders like a shawl as soon as he reached the couch, where he intended to zone out watching reruns of Babylon 5 and The Original Star Trek on the Sci-Fi channel. 

He was half way to that zoned-out state, yawning as he limped into the main room of his apartment, when he saw something that shocked him into instant alertness.

"Hi Gabriel," Sara said, holding up a twelve pack of MGD in one hand and a pizza cutter in the other. On the table there was a box from the neighborhood pizza parlor that smelled strongly of pepperoni. "Welcome home."

"What is this?" Gabriel asked, his voice was guarded and sharp with suspicion.

"About 10 percent welcome home party and 90 percent apology."

"Apology?"

"I tried to rescue you, Gabriel," Sara's voice was stretched and mournful. She set down the beer and took a step toward him, he took a step back. Sara stopped, looked at him for a moment then looked down at the pizza cutter in her hand. "I'm sorry, I tried."

"Yeah, well, you know what Yoda said . . ."

Sara nodded, licked her lips and took a deep breath. It seemed fairly obvious that she was trying to fight back tears, "In that case, maybe I'll just leave . . ."

Gabriel sighed, all the cold hard anger he had in his heart melted away. "Stay," he said, forcing the word out. Sara looked up at him, her eyes were filled with an eager hope, Gabriel couldn't stand it, he glanced away. "It's late, the shelters are closed, where else you gonna go?"

"I don't want to be an imposition."

"Sara," Gabriel said, his eyes were scanning the floor, he didn't want her there, but he wanted her alone and unprotected out in the cold even less. "Just don't . . ." he started, but he didn't know how to end.

"Gabriel," Sara said "I failed you. You, of all the people in the world, I should protect and I couldn't." Her voice cracked, which pulled his eyes away from the floor to Sara's face. It struck Gabriel that Sara had suffered almost as much as he had: her apology must have been the most sincere apology that he had ever received.

"Through it all I wasn't afraid," Gabriel said. "Guns, fire, fists, it didn't matter: you were gonna save me."

"I tried Gabriel," Sara whispered.

"You didn't come," he said, looking away from her, to a corner in the ceiling where a cobweb was starting to form. "And I'm just gonna have to realize that you're not perfect Sara, you can't do everything."

Sara didn't know quite what to say, she stayed quiet.

He took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes, even though the tears hadn't yet escaped from them. "I'm furious at you, but it's not your fault. So, just . . . stay, please."

Sara actually was crying, she didn't try to hide her tears or wipe them away. "Oh, Gabriel."

Gabe suddenly felt horrible. He didn't want her to cry, he didn't want her to feel guilty, he knew she had tried, he knew she would gladly kill, and more than likely die, to protect him. "It's ok, Chief," Gabriel said, stepping forward. "I'm fine, you're fine, you know, whatever else," he shook his head casually, "It's not really important."

"Oh, Gabriel," Sara said again, and reached out to envelop him in a truly warm hug.

When they pulled away Gabriel was almost laughing. 

"What?" Sara asked, she started to giggle with him.

"I missed you," Gabriel said. 

Sara's smile slipped a little. "You missed me."

"For the past like, month, you haven't been there. And I get why, and I don't . . . I mean I'm not angry. I just miss you."

"Well I'm here," Sara said, "And I have beer, so I guess we should start making up for lost time."

"Ah," Gabriel said, looking down at the six-pack. "They put me on some pretty heavy duty pain killers."

"Are you afraid of pink elephants?"

"Man, Dumbo always scared the hell out of me."

"How about pizza?"

"Pizza I think I could do."

The End 

  
  
  
  


Authors Note:

With apologies to everyone who really liked this story; I'm sick of it, so I'm not going to try to force in the part where the story Gabriel read at the beginning links into the end, and I'm not going to explain how the opposites that govern the Witchblade are not good and evil, but rather Choice and Destiny, and I'm not going to add this little gem of Dialogue: Sara- Gabriel are you alright?, Gabriel - Fine, I've just been starved and beaten . . . are you alright (after he sees she started crying), Sara - No, my best friend's been starved and beaten. All that stuff was good, but it just didn't work it's way in, and I'm too tired to try and stuff it in, so . . . sorry.


End file.
